Phoenix: Evolution
by Eris R. Lebeau
Summary: Must join!" The mind voice cried like an injured child, and Jean wanted to hold it. "Now!" It called like a lover, voicing a desire that resonated in her, saturating her thoughts and senses. "Burn as one!"
1. The Crystal

"What do you want? Jean?" Scott nudged her with an elbow.

Jean pulled her eyes, and her mind, away from the perfect blue sky and forced herself to return Scott's smile. She knew he had planned this picnic for her as a chance to get away from the X-brats, a reprieve from the responsibility of helping the younger kids hone their powers and handle their endless teenage problems. This was supposed to be "together time," but even now, even among the rolling hills and autumn-kissed trees, her mind wandered.

What did she want? College? An internship? A year of hitchhiking through Europe? How about the luxury of growing up, leaving all that comic book stuff behind her, and living in the real world, a world with no heroes or villains, just soccer moms and salesmen, plain Janes and average Joes? A white picket fence with a dog for the two point four kids to play with?

Those were all things she _thought _about, just like she thought about Scott Summers. But then there were the dreams. She didn't want to think about what she'd been dreaming lately. _I'm glad he's not the telepath, _she thought to herself, flushing. It wasn't Scott who held her in her dreams.

"I want-- I don't know! It's bad enough being a senior and having to make all these decisions, but being a mutant too, it's just--"

His mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. "Ah, Jean? I meant, 'What do you want-- tuna fish or ham and cheese?'" He reached into the paper bag and took out the two sandwiches, holding one in each hand.

"Oh. Tuna, I guess." She took the sandwich with a sheepish smile.

"It's your favorite, right?"

He looked so earnest that she didn't need her powers to tell he really did care. Everything he did had to be perfect, whether it was clamping down on the Brotherhood or planning a date. Details were everything to Scott, and she knew she could ruin his day right now just by saying, "No, actually, I prefer PBJ."

Where had that thought come from? Scott's fussiness was one of the things she loved about him. It had to be those stupid dreams, the ones that left her sweating and trembling and waking up feeling wrung-out and scared. In those dreams, she burned alive. She heard a voice calling her name through the flames, Logan's voice, but when she tried to answer, all that came out was a wordless cry.

"Yes! It's my favorite!" She took a big bite for emphasis.

"Thought so!" Scott nodded smartly and put an arm around her shoulders. "See? I know you, Jean. I know how to take care of you."

_Then you know I haven't been myself. _Some things were easier to say with telepathy, and besides, she was chewing.

"Mmm-hmm." Scott muttered around a bit of his ham and cheese. After swallowing, he continued, "I know. It's almost midterms, and you're worried about college admissions. You want to get in on your own merit and all that. I get it. That's why you needed a day outside in the fresh air, a chance to get away from the X-Mansion and Bayville High."

"That's it. You're right." Someday, she would learn to lie telepathically. For now, it was hard enough to lie to Scott using her voice.

"You bet I'm right! Whoa! What the hell?" He dropped his sandwich and pointed to the sky, where something streaked downward.

The object met the horizon, sending a tremor through the ground and making a "thud" that left Jean's ears ringing. Automatically, she reached out with her telepathy, searching for information. Near the source of the noise, she found twenty three minds, ten of them conscious, eight of them in at least some pain. _Hurt. Dying-- is he? Are you--? What happened? I think they followed us. So much pain! I wish it would just end. The Crystal? The M'Kraan Crystal, is it whole? Is it--? Dying. Bleeding. How many casualties? The Crystal, is it--? It's here. The Crystal is undamaged! Then our mission is in tact._

"Jean?" Scott prompted her. "Jean, I don't understand anything you're trying to tell me!"

"I don't understand either, but we have to go help!" She stood, grabbed his arm, and started running toward the impact site. _Hold on! Help is coming! _That message, she sent to the injured people. To Logan and Xavier, she sent another. _There's some sort of crash out here North of the Mansion, but don't send the police. I think it's something... out of the ordinary. Scott and I are on it, but we could use some backup. They keep worrying about something called the M'Kraan Crystal. _

Xavier's response came quickly, and with a note of urgency she hardly ever sensed from the Professor. _Be careful, Jean! Wait for Logan and I to assist you. _

_Sorry, Professor! Those people need help now. _Shutting him out of her mind, she forced her legs to pump harder and faster. For some of the crash victims, seconds could matter. 


	2. More Than She Had Ever Wanted Anything

Though she had seen it fall from the sky, Jean could tell the vessel was definitely _not_ an airplane. It looked more like a submarine, with a blunt nose and no wings. Whatever the thing was, its door had come open and some of its occupants were emerging. When Jean saw the first face emerge from the ship, she had to call upon all of her finely honed mental discipline just to keep from screaming.

The thing was blue, like Dr. McCoy and Kurt, but the resemblance to her friends ended there. Its bulbous cranium, tapered chin, and over-sized black eyes reminded her of the "grey men" she had seen on some phony documentary about the Roswell crash. In its arms, the being carried a grey-skinned woman with long black hair. The woman's costume displayed both her muscular physique and a deep gash in her thigh. Seeing the injury, Jean berated herself for being frightened of these people. They needed help, and that was all that mattered.

She reached out with her mind. _My name is Jean Grety, and this is Scott Summers. We've sent for help, but in the mean time, is there anything we can do? We both took a first responder class last semester! _

The blue being laid his comrade down on the grass and motioned for Jean to come closer. "I am Earthquake. Press on Nightside's wound until it heals, Jean-Grey. How far away is the X-Mansion of Charles Xavier?"

"Not far," Scott replied. "The Professor and Logan are on their way. Can I help get the rest of the injured out of your ship?"

"No need!" Those words came from a third strange-looking being, a man with lavender skin, pointed ears, and a black mohawk. "We will not risk the M'Kraan Crystal by allowing it to fall into any hands besides Xavier's."

"Jean says there are other casualties inside there!" Scott argued, folding his arms across his chest. He raised one hand to touch the rim of his visor.

Jean quickly scanned the stranger's mind and sent a hasty message to Scott. _Don't argue with him! His name is Gladiator, and he's a member of something called the Imperial Guard. These guys aren't like the Brotherhood, Scott. They'll kill you without a second thought if they think you're a threat to the crystal. _

"Alright, alright!" Scott stepped back and put a hand on Jean's shoulder as she knelt beside the injured Nightside. "How's the girl?"

Keeping her right hand on the wound, Jean used two fingers on her left hand to feel Nightside's pulse. "She'll make it. I think. Scott, they aren't just mutants, they're--" she swallowed, not wanting to say it out loud.

"We are Shi'ar Imperial Guard, sent be Empress Lilandra herselfon a mission whose failure will doom innumerable solar systems," Gladiator finished. He sat down on the grass, leaning against the side of the ship. Earthquake had gone back inside, probably to tend more of the wounded.

"Solar systems?" Scott raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief, but his voice had gone up at least half an octave.

Jean smiled. "He's telling the truth, Scott. They're from a world so far away our scientists would say we could never go there. What they have in their ship, it's something dangerous, something powerful, but at the same time..."

She reached out with her telepathy again and felt a thing that wasn't a mind, at least not any kind of mind she had ever experienced. The thrill that shot through her when she touched it was like the feeling she had had when Logan's hand accidentally touched hers at breakfast, or the sensation she used to feel whenever Scott looked at her. It was _like_ that but far, far more powerful. She wanted to be with this consciousness more than she had ever wanted anything, or anyone.

These feelings flowing through her must be what made people steal, or kill, or rape. She had thought herself above those things, better than the people who did them, but now she realized she had just never wanted anything this much. Could she trick Gladiator into getting out of the way? Maybe use her telekinesis to knock him over?

"At the same time what, Jean? Jean?" Scott tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to herself.

She flushed and pressed down harder on Nightside's wound. Helping this stranger was what she wanted to do. That was who she had decided to be-- someone who saved lives, someone who helped others. "N-nothing," she stammered. "It's powerful, it's dangerous, it's bad. They're taking it to Xavier so he can protect it. It can't fall into the wrong hands."

"In that case, get ready for a fight. I think the 'wrong hands' just showed up!" Scott pointed to the sky, where a second ship, much like the one in front of them, had blotted out the sun.


	3. The Battle Cry

A second craft, smaller than the first, but with the same submarine-like shape, descended to the ground as if lowered by some gentle, unseen hand. Nightside stirred in Jean's arms, muttering something in an unfamiliar language.

Jean took her hand off the wound, feeling slightly nauseated at the stickiness of the congealing blood. _I think the bleeding has stopped now, but you're not ready to fight. I'm going to lift you inside. _Despite the wounded woman's unintelligible protests, Jean used her telekinesis to move Nightside back into the ship, dodging her comrades as they filed out.

The... people-- Jean didn't like calling them "aliens," even in her own head-- wore costumes that resembled those of the X-Men, close-fitting and colorful. They also wore an aura of power, a confidence that she recognized and envied. Their minds held a common purpose, the same thought repeated like a religious litany, _keep the crystal from D'Ken. _They formed a semi-circle around the door of their ship, which swung shut behind them. 

Scott reached out a hand and pulled Jean up to stand beside him. "Can you tell what's going on?"

"Yes." She rifled through Gladiator's mind, shoving aside the urgency of the moment. "These people are traitors to their Emperor, D'Ken, and most of them hate themselves for it. Gladiator especially. They've seized power in the name of his sister, Lilandra, but they're not sure the coup will last."

"Uh, Jean? We don't have time for that Oprah stuff. I have to make a decision here." His tone was one of barely-contained panic. The idea of having to choose a course of action with minimal information must be Scott's worst nightmare.

"I'm trying to save time by telling you what I see instead of sorting through it all first!" Forgetting Xavier's admonitions about using gestures as a crutch, she clutched her forehead in both hands as if trying to squeeze out more of her mutant power. _D'Ken is a dictator, Scott. He's like an ancient Roman emperor, but with technology that can wipe out entire planets. This M'Kraan crystal, it's called the 'heart of reality.' I can't even understand what that means, but D'Ken will use it as a weapon if he gets a hold of it._

"But if he can already wipe out entire planets..." Scott's jaw muscle twitched, betraying the terror that lurked beneath his stoic facade.

"Right. If he can already wipe out planets, and they're afraid of him getting the crystal, it must be some weapon," Jean finished.

"Get in the middle, behind the others," Scott ordered her. "I'll fight with them, you use your telepathy to send for help."

"I already have. Xavier and Logan are on their way, and I updated them at the same time I told you what I saw in Gladiator's head." She decided that if they survived this, she would have a thing or two to say to him about this "taking charge" nonsense.

"Good work. Now get behind the others. You can use your telekinesis to--"

_Stop it, Scott. Let me concentrate._

The door of the smaller ship opened and a ramp unfolded from it. Scott raised a hand to his visor and held it there, waiting for a shot at whatever came out.

"Scott Summers! Jean Grey!" Gladiator barked. "You will wait for my orders. As a member of the royal family, D'Ken will be granted an opportunity to surrender."

"I understand," Scott said.

_Of course, _Jean agreed.

She brushed Scott's mind with a light probe and felt fear, resolve, and a need to protect her, along with a surge of adrenaline-created excitement. His emotions echoed her own. Xavier had always told his students that they were stronger as a team, but now Jean wasn't sure he'd been right. This was what she had trained for, the day every would-be x-man looked forward to with hope and trepidation. She was about to face a real villain, one who made Magneto look like a schoolyard bully. She should be focused on the goal, and yet the thought of losing Scott had her terrified to the core.

A figure emerged from the enemy ship, a man with a tall plume of black hair in a close-fitting white suit with a cape that fell to his knees. He carried no weapon and wore no apparent armor save his obvious self-importance. Jean thrust her mind into his and found his thoughts a tangled, incoherent mess of violence and chaos. She could find no rational center to the man, nothing to reason with.

_Scott! Fire on him now! He's not going to surrender! _

"Jean, he's _unarmed!_ Let Gladiator make his offer--" Scott cut off abruptly as two dozen soldiers trooped out to join their leader, each carrying what looked like a heavy machine gun.

Gladiator and D'Ken exchanged words, but Jean hardly heard them. There was another voice calling to her, one that spoke in a primal language that transcended words.

_Join. Meld. Grow in power as one. _The mind-voice sang to her, and it felt like Logan calling her name in her dreams. _Burn. Burn together. _Familiar images and sensations flickered through her mind, the same scenes that haunted her at night-- stars, flames, Scott's touch as she remembered it, Logan's embrace as she imagined it would be.

Gladiator bellowed angry words in his own language, and D'Ken raised his arm, then lowered it in angry slash, signaling his men to fire. She raised a telekinetic shield around herself and Scott, wishing she could make it big enough to protect the Imperial Guard members as well. Bright darts of energy filled the air, some of them pelting her shield, while others were absorbed into Gladiator's body.

Apparently unharmed by the blasts, Gladiator dove into the enemy, seizing one soldier's weapon and using it to bludgeon another. Some of the other Imperial Guard members were holding their own as well, but at least two lay motionless. Scott darted from behind the shield and fired a stream of kinetic energy, downing one of the enemy fighters.

_Must join! _The mind voice cried like an injured child, and Jean wanted to hold it. _Now! _It called like a lover, voicing a desire that resonated in her, saturating her thoughts and senses. _Burn as one! _

"Yes!" Jean wasn't sure if she said the word aloud or only in her mind. She didn't care. Abandoning the shield, she threw her power at the door of the Imperial Guard ship, tearing it aside like the tab on a soda can. Energy blasts danced around her, but she deflected them without conscious though, just as she shoved Scott away when he tried to catch her arm.

Inside the ship, she found the source of the siren song. A bird with feathers of flame spread its wings and opened its beak, emitting a psychic scream. Beneath the bird, an amber-colored crystal the size of Jean's head pulsed with light.

She moved toward the creature, spreading her own arms wide. When she stepped into it, the bird's body enveloped her. Her skin drank in the heat, thrilling to the flames' caress. Her mind reeled with the exhilaration of unlimited power.

She tilted back her head and joined in the battle-cry of the dark phoenix.


	4. The Heart of His Reality

"Jean, wait!" Scott shouted, dodging a member of the Imperial Guard. He tapped his visor and knocked down three of D'Ken's men as they rushed toward the entrance of the ship. Having cleared himself a path, he ran past the mangled door and into the ship.

There was no sign of Jean. A bird-shaped alien being made of flames flew past him and through the door. Whatever the creature was, it must have originated inside the ship, and therefore must be part of the Imperial Guard. Scott ignored it and continued to search the vessel's interior.

"Jean! Come on! Tell me what it is you're trying to do! We're more powerful as a team! Jean?" His voice echoed through the metal chambers. A few of the injured aliens mumbled something in response, but not in any language he understood. Nightside pointed to a large amber-colored gemstone and then to the door. Scott wanted to kick something in frustration.

He focused his thoughts, hoping she would find him with her telepathy. _Jean, I need you! We're losing out there! Badly! _

The mind that answered belonged not to Jean, but to Charles Xavier. _Scott, please come outside._

"Right," Scott acknowledged. A few strides took him through the portal, where he saw Logan, Professor Xavier, and Gladiator standing with five of the surviving Imperial Guard members. All of them stood motionless, staring at something in the sky.

Scott followed their eyes and saw the flame-bird chasing after D'Ken's men. The bird swooped down and clutched one of them in its fiery talons. The soldier's shriek echoed through the hills, then cut off as he was torn in two.

"What the hell is that thing?" Scott muttered.

Logan shrugged. "Chuck called it the 'dark phoenix'."

"Jean," the professor said quietly. "Jean, you must regain control!"

When Scott turned to look at Xavier, he saw the professor's eyes were closed, and he had one hand on his forehead. He was probably saying those same words in his head, and from the look on his face, they must be important.

Only a handful of D'Ken's soldiers made it to their craft without being burned or torn to pieces. When the ship rose into the air, the phoenix grew to match it in size, then enveloped it in a flurry of talons, claws, and fire. Charred bodies fell to the ground like cereal being shaken from the box.

_Jean, enough! _The professor's psychic order hit Scott with a mind-numbing force, and appeared to get the bird's attention as well.

The phoenix dropped the mutilated remains of the ship and turned, diving to fly close to the ground. It was headed directly toward the professor.

By the time Logan shouted at Scott to shoot, he had already opened his visor, allowing the full force of his kinetic blast to hit the phoenix. The bird dropped to the ground among the charred bodies of its victims and seemed to disappear.

Scott felt a rush of relief that was replaced almost immediately by anxiety. "Where's Jean?" he asked, looking from Logan to Xavier to Gladiator.

Xavier slumped in his chair, looking exhausted, and ignored Scott. He raised his chin and looked Gladiator in the eye. "Bring me the crystal, then go. Tell Lilandra the heart of reality is safe for the moment, and warn her that the guardian is gone."

Gladiator made a small bow toward Xavier. "The Shi'ar Empire is in your debt and will not forget your sacrifice." He disappeared into the ship for a moment and then returned with the gemstone, which he laid in Xavier's lap.

"Where is Jean?" Scott demanded again, raising his voice.

Logan reached out a hand and placed it on Scott's shoulder. "Kid, you did the right thing. You knew Jean. You knew she'd rather go down a hero than a monster."

"You don't mean--" Scott searched Logan's face and found an echo of what he saw in Xavier's. Both men looked older and weaker, as if each had lost a piece of his soul. "The phoenix? Jean?"

Logan nodded.

_Scott, we will always mourn this loss. Let me help you-- _

Xavier's thoughts in his mind felt just as cloying as Logan's hand on his shoulder. He pushed them both away and ran to where the bird had fallen. Nothing remained of the phoenix.

Deposed Emperor D'Ken stared into the vacant blue sky with equally empty eyes, his face frozen in a rictus of agony. Half his body had been charred away. Several of his men and three of the Imperial Guard lay in similar condition. The stench of burned flesh was enough to bring him to his knees, retching until nothing remained to vomit. Not trusting his legs enough to stand, he crawled a few feet to kneel beside the one body with no sign of fire damage.

Jean's head lay to the side at an unnatural angle, framed by the chaotic halo of her tangled hair. A rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, belying the tranquil expression on her face. He reached out to touch her neck, probing for any sign of a pulse. In desperation, he pushed on her chest, using the rhythmic technique they had learned in their first responder class. He lowered his ear to her lips, praying for the sound and feel of her breath.

"Jean, you can't leave me!' He slapped one of her cheeks, then the other.

_Scott, she's gone. _The professor drifted closer on his hoverchair and put an arm around his shoulders.

Logan knelt on the other side of Jean and slid one arm under her neck and the other around her legs. "I'll take her back to the mansion."

"No, I can do it." Scott snatched the limp body from Logan's arms, cradling it close to his chest.

He should have held her this way more often when she was alive, should have argued with her when she protested he was "going too fast". Hell, she was a telepath! He should have opened his mind to her and shown her everything inside him. Then she would have known how much he loved her. She would have understood that he wasn't like other guys their age. He knew exactly what he wanted, what he _needed _to make him whole. He had his whole life planned out in front of him exactly the way it had to be. That plan now felt as worthless as the body in his arms, stripped of all warmth, soulless and empty. She had been the source of his confidence, his motivation, and his resolve, his reason for being everything he was.

Jean had been the heart of _his _reality.

"Scott--" the professor began.

"Leave 'im be," Logan interrupted. "The kid needs some time. We all do."

The Shi'ar ship rose into the air and zoomed away, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott noticed that the M'Kraan crystal had begun to glow.


	5. The First Priority

Scott entered Xavier's office in a mental haze, still fumbling with the belt on his robe. It had been a long night, filled with restless dreams of fire and loss. He had just managed to fall into a deep sleep when Xavier had summoned him, and he had been half-tempted to ignore the telepathic call.

He yawned as he looked around the room, noting that Ororo, Logan, and Hank had all been brought here as well. They were probably all wondering if he would be able to keep up with all his duties now that Jean was gone. He couldn't blame them if they questioned his ability to teach the younger mutants; they were probably right to do so.

He slumped into a leather-upholstered chair, leaned back, and shrugged in Xavier's direction. "I'm here."

Ororo beamed at him, looking every inch the benevolent goddess in her long white nightgown. "Scott, there is good news."

"Don't get 'is hopes up, 'Ro," Logan growled. "We don' know what to make 'o this yet."

Hank nodded. "I concur. It would be premature to draw conclusions."

"What are you trying to say here?" Scott demanded. "You were wrong about Jean? She's alive?"

The professor held up a hand to silence him. "Please allow me to explain. The dark phoenix is a being of virtually unlimited power. The Shi'ar were able to bind it as the guardian of the M'Kraan crystal. After centuries of such captivity, the phoenix grew unstable. I believe it sought out Jean's mind in order to free itself. Bound to an omega-level mutant, it was able to break through the Shi'ar safeguards and act on its own."

"A hypothesis that leaves many questions unanswered," Hank mused. "Why Jean? And why was it about to attack you, Charles? If the phoenix is charged with protecting the crystal, it would seem our interests are aligned."

"Maybe it doesn't like bein' _used_, Hank. These Shi'ar, they kept it chained up because of what it could do for them. That wouldn't sit right with me." Logan crossed his arms and scowled.

Xavier nodded. "Logan may be correct. The phoenix has become violent and unpredictable as a result of its exploitation. I have... some idea as to why it may have chosen Jean. We have all expected a lot of her, and of Scott as well."

"You cannot possibly be saying that we treat our students as the Shi'ar did this phoenix!" Ororo protested. "Jean demands more of herself than anyone ever asked of her."

"Expectations can often feel as confining as demands, Ororo. Like the phoenix, Jean may have felt she was trapped." The professor sighed. "Whatever the case, the fact remains that Jean's body is still with us. She began to heal shortly after I brought her to Hank."

Scott's hands trembled as he replayed the professor's words in his mind, trying to decide if he had imagined them. Was this a dream? It had to be. He had felt her go cold in his arms. "Please!" The word came out sounding like child's whine. He sat up, squared his shoulders, and looked each of his teachers in the eyes before continuing. "Please tell me what the hell is going on with Jean." Those words came out in a cool, steady tone that earned him a nod of sympathy from Ororo and a grunt of approval from Logan.

"I can only sense her mind in erratic spurts, though they are growing closer together," Xavier explained. "She is asking after her friends, mostly you, Scott, and you, as well, Logan."

"Then take me to her!" Scott stood up, feeling a goofy grin spread across his face and for once not caring if he looked like an idiot.

Xavier shook his head. "She is not yet conscious. I have had her moved to her own bedroom. Scott, given your relationship with Jean, I will allow you to sit with her, but it will be your responsibility to make sure the younger students don't overwhelm her. Her recovery is by no means certain."

"Internal injuries?" Scott swallowed hard as a fresh wave of hopelessness washed over him. He was the one who had hit her with the full force of his kinetic blast. Whatever damage had been done was his fault.

"Nothin' that simple, kid. Chuck's afraid the phoenix is still in there somewhere," Logan tapped his own head for emphasis. "Jean needs to take it easy until we're sure."

"Make no mistake, Scott, preventing the release of the phoenix must be the first priority, even if it means repeating your earlier course of action," the professor warned.

"I won't let her turn into that thing again," Scott promised.

"Let us hope you are able to fulfill that promise," Hank muttered.

Logan rose from his chair. "Come on, I want to check in on her too. I'll walk with ya."

Grinning again, Scott shook his head. "Go on. I'll be right there. I just need to stop at my room for my calculus book in case she doesn't wake up for a while."

All four instructors gave him puzzled looks.

He shrugged. "I've got an assignment due. And now that she's back, things like that matter again."

Derivatives, integrals, limits-- with Jean gone, none of it had seemed important. How could he care about school when his reason for caring about anything had been taken from him? Now, life made sense again. He had a plan for the future and rules to follow in order to get there. With Jean by his side, he could spend all night differentiating and integrating, wearing a smile the whole time.


	6. All That Mattered

Jean fumbled for the lamp, blinking at the unexpected brightness. She didn't remember leaving it on when she had gone to bed. Come to think of it, she didn't remember going to bed.

First her hand, and then her telekinesis, swept over the night table, but the reading lamp was gone. She sat up, irked at her growing sense of disorientation. The sight of Scott, who was sitting at her desk with his calculus book, explained where the lamp had gone-- he had moved it-- but left her feeling even more confused. He wasn't supposed to be in her room this late, and even if he had decided to break the rules and stay with her, why was he doing math homework?

"Scott?" she whispered, not wanting to wake the students in nearby rooms.

"Jean!" He jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over backwards, and then tripped on it as he came toward her. Unfazed, he kicked the offending piece of furniture aside and sat down next to her on the bed. He cupped her face in both hands and stared for at least a full minute before kissing her.

She peeled his hands off of her face and edged away from him. "What exactly are you doing here?"

"I was just working on tomorrow's assignment until you woke up. I'll explain to Ms. Ackman you won't be turning yours in, but there's no use in both of us getting behind, right? I figure I can help you catch up. Once you're up to it that is! No rush to get back!"

"Ugh! I _know_ you're doing homework, Scott, I just don't know why you're doing it _here_, in my room. I also don't know why you're looking at me that way, like I've been gone a year or something!"

He put both his arms around her and pulled her close, then tucked his chin over her head. "How much do you remember?"

She wriggled against him until she managed to free her arms, then wrapped them around his waist. She liked the feelings emanating from him. What she felt now was nothing like his usual restrained affection; it was hot and strong, like the fire in the engine of a fast car. His thoughts pummeled her with a deluge of soothing flames.

Strange imagery, she mused, not the kind of thoughts that usually filled her head. His question was strange too. How much _did_ she remember?

"Let's see, I remember you invited me on a picnic, said it would be a good way to get a break from school and the X-brats. I remember you brought lunch for us, and then something--" Groping for memories, she switched to telepathy. _People hurt. Some sort of spacecraft. Gladiator, Nightside, Earthquake... They wanted to bring Xavier a crystal. D'Ken came to take it from them and then-- _

Scott squeezed her harder, only loosening his grip when she gasped for breath. He stroked the back of her hair with one hand, keeping the other on the small of her back. "Is that it? That's all you remember?"

She nodded her head against his chest. _Yes. _

"Then promise me one thing, Jean, please! Swear you won't go digging for the rest. Not from me, not from Logan, Xavier, or anyone."

_You know I don't dig without permission unless it's an emergency, Scott. And it couldn't have been that bad. How worried could you be if you're doing calculus homework? _She sighed, irritated that he would keep something from her and frightened about what it might be. It wasn't like him to hide anything from her. 

He brought his lips to her ear. "I'm just glad I have another chance to show you I love you. Don't push me away this time, Jean. If you're scared that I won't stick around, read my mind."

She should really tell him to go back to his own room. He had it backwards anyway; she wasn't scared he would use her and leave. What did frighten her was how bad she would feel about breaking up with him if they got that close. She didn't know what it was she wanted out of life, so how could she tell whether or not it included Scott?

Still, his touch felt like a fire that burned with pleasure instead of pain. A voice inside her called, like a favorite song replaying in her head, and that voice said, _all that matters is what you want now. We are one. What you want, I want. We want. _

She pulled away from him enough to see his face, smiled, and nodded. _Alright. Stay. _Using her telekinesis, she flipped the switch on the lamp. 

He frowned. "Jean, your eyes--"

_What?_ She snapped, annoyed that his emotions had suddenly cooled. She slipped her nightshirt off over her head and rejoined him on the bed.

"For a second they looked, um--" he fumbled for words as she sidled closer to him. "Never mind. It's you, it has to be. I know you. This _is_ you, right?"

_Who else would it be? _The flames were back, like the white-hot core of a star. She remembered swallowing stars in her dreams, feeling them burn out inside her. Dreams. Memories. Now. Those distinctions didn't matter. All that mattered was having what she wanted. 


	7. I Won't Hesitate

"Cupcakes for breakfast?" Logan raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from Jean with his mug of coffee.

"Cupcakes and orange juice!" Jean tapped her half-full glass for emphasis. "I figured today I'd give myself a break and listen to the devil on my shoulder for a change. I'm not going to school, I'm not training, and I'm not eating shredded wheat!"

"Good for you, Jeannie. Just wipe the frosting off your face before you go out." His lips curled up in a smirk, but his eyes swept over her face, probing with an interest that had nothing to do with amusement.

"I'm fine, Logan. I'm more than fine, so don't look at me that way. Between Dr. McCoy and Professor Xavier, I've been poked, prodded, analyzed, scanned, and generally aggravated enough to last a lifetime. And that was all before breakfast! I don't need you looking at me like I'm about to explode."

He shrugged. "I'm not the one in charge here. Chuck told me to keep an eye on you until Scott gets back from school."

Was he happy about the assignment? Jean wondered. If asked, of course, Logan would claim to be frustrated with babysitting duty. The mental suit of armor he always wore would have made it difficult to read his mind, even if she were willing to break Xavier's code of ethics and snoop. Still, the thoughts and feelings he did leak, the ones she couldn't help picking up, indicated he didn't see her as a little girl anymore. Not that it mattered! Even if Logan weren't a few hundred years too old for her, she and Scott were together, very much together.

Thinking about Scott and last night filled her thoughts with fire in a way that wasn't a cheesy metaphor. The whole time, she had thought about blazing stars and burning flesh, and had imagined her own body consumed in flame. Those images should frighten her, but instead they excited her, made her look forward to him coming home.

She savored her last bite of cupcake, took a drink of juice, and then rested her chin on her fist. "I'm surprised you didn't try to fob me off on Ororo."

"I did." Logan's hand tightened on his coffee mug and he scowled down at the table rather than looking Jean in the eye. "Chuck wouldn't have it." _Didn't think 'Ro could do what it takes if it comes down to it, or thinks it'd hurt 'Ro more than it would me, like my healin' factor'll just take care o' the pain. Bastard. _

He hadn't meant to let the last part slip. The thought itself made no sense, but Jean shuddered at the feelings that came with it. Logan was afraid of her, or more specifically, afraid he would have to do something that would hurt her. She took another drink of juice, stalling until she could think of something to say.

"I'll tell you what- I'll go up to my room and catch up on homework. You have my word as an X-man I'll stay put. You go off and do whatever you want, and if the professor asks, you can just say, 'Jean was in her room all day doing homework'." She forced a smile and a playful wink.

Logan shook his head, swallowed the rest of his coffee, and stood up. "Come on, Jeannie. We're stuck with each other for the day, so I'll take you for a ride."

"On your bike? I'd love that!" She imagined herself straddling the seat and holding on to Logan with the air rushing past them as they sped down some lonely road. That thought was enough to drive most of the anxiety from her mind.

She could feel the idiotic grin spread across her face as she shrugged into her jacket. She stood and followed Logan out of the kitchen, down the stairs, and into the garage, where he handed her a helmet.

He got on the bike and watched her strap on the helmet. _Shoulda asked me to take you for a ride before, darlin'. If I'd've known it would make you this happy, I would've. _

Before what? She wondered. She got on behind him and secured her arms around his waist, wishing he would stop leaking thoughts so she could just enjoy this. His defenses must be breaking down. Unless her powers were suddenly getting stronger, that had to be the explanation. Maybe Xavier had wanted her to observe Logan and not the other way around. She decided she wouldn't say anything for now about his defenses, not until she'd had a chance to talk to the professor about it.

As they left the grounds of the X-Mansion, Logan accelerated far past the speed limit, and Jean's heart raced at every turn. She tightened her grip on his waist and mentally clung to the sense of confidence he exuded as he drove. The feeling of speed and danger ignited her mind, and though her eyes took in the scenery, her thoughts were filled once more with flames.

She was suddenly aware of the fact that her chest was pressed against his back in a way that would seem suggestive in any other context. He wasn't thinking about her that way, focused only the road and the bike, but when they stopped, what would go through his mind? How would he react if she held onto him just a moment longer than necessary, or if she pressed herself closer before pulling away? Why was she even wondering these things? Dreams of Logan left her feeling confused because they were so strange, not because they reflected anything she wanted. She didn't want him that way, any more than she wanted to bathe in fire.

They turned onto a narrow rode that curved back into the hills, then climbed. She looked over the edge of the road and got goosebumps at the site of the sheer drop-off. A series of hairpin turns took them higher until the road ended and Logan brought the bike to a smooth stop.

Jean hopped off the bike quickly, flushing at the ideas she had considered during the ride. She avoided looking at Logan and instead admired the view.

"You can see the X-Mansion from here!" she pointed to the distant building. "I like it up here. Thanks for bringing me."

"Thought you would." Logan nodded. _And Chuck said to keep you where you'd do the least damage. The bastard! Sticking me with this. Figured these hands have so much blood on 'em it won't matter? Please, Jeannie, don't give in to it, not with me around. _

Her smile faded. She searched his face, looking for any clues to augment the leaking thoughts. He looked frightened, even more on his guard than usual, as if he expected an attack. When she probed the surface of his mind, she found that he expected the attack to be both from her and somehow directed at her.

"Logan, what's wrong? Scott, Professor Xavier, Dr. McCoy, they've all been acting strange. Now you are too. What happened to me with the Shi'ar? I don't remember, and no one will tell me!"

"Sorry, I can't." He spread his hands. "You can ask the professor later, but it's not my place."

"Then at least stop looking at me like I'm a monster. You've never been afraid of me before!" She stepped in front of him and took both his hands. "I'm Jean Grey, the same person I was before the Shi'ar came."

"I hope that's true, darlin'." He squeezed both her hands and ran his eyes over her face. _She's a kid, too young to know what she wants even if she is old enough to vote. Besides, Scott would send me back across the border with an optic blast and Chuck wouldn't stop him. It's not worth it, not like I've ever had trouble filling my bed. This is Jean, not some girl from a bar. _

Jean knew she should ask him to take her back to the mansion to wait for Scott, but her mind was ablaze, and fire doesn't do what it should, it goes where the wind takes it and consumes what it touches. She moved closer to Logan and slid her hands up onto his shoulders. Encouraged by the fact that he hadn't pulled away, she pressed the front of her body against his.

He slid a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward, then gasped when he met her eyes. He took her by the shoulders and shook her hard enough to hurt. "Come on, snap out of it!"

"Logan, you want this as much as I do! You're not even trying to hide your feelings like you usually do! Why can't you just--"

"'Cause this isn't you, Jean." _I can't do it. Not while it still looks like her. _

"Yes, it is me! I'm tired of people telling me who I am and what I want! I'm Jean Grey, and I want to be with you now! It doesn't matter what happens tomorrow or next year or ten years from now." _Forget Xavier. Forget Scott. _She plunged her mind into Logan's thoughts, finding what she'd hoped for and drawing it to the surface. A part of him wanter her here, now, on the cold ground. She magnified that part, blotting out the rest of his conscious thoughts.

He moved his hands from her shoulders to her back, then let them slide down to her hips while he kissed her. The dream voice sang with the howl of roaring flame, burning all rational thought from Jean's mind. Mind flames became real, scorching away her flesh, replacing it with pinions of fire. Logan screamed in agony, and the sound was sweeter than Scott's cries of pleasure. The Dark Phoenix rose into the air, leaving the charred body of her lover on the steaming asphalt.

When his lungs had healed enough to allow it, Logan drew in a deep, painful breath. _I wasn't strong enough to do it, Charles. _

_There is no time for self-recrimination, Logan. Get back here immediately so we can devise a plan to recapture the Phoenix. _Xavier's response held overtones of disappointment and outright fear.

Logan forced his scorched muscles into action, standing up and dragging himself onto the bike. _Next time, I'll do it. I won't hesitate. I'll do it for Jean. _


	8. He Deserved to Burn

"Hey, what is that, yo?" Toad stuck his arm out the window of Lance's jeep and pointed to something moving in the trees up ahead of them.

"Don't know. Don't care. We got a 'Yeild' sign yet?" Fred asked. Without waiting for a reply, he reached out and grabbed the sign as they drove by it, pulling it out of the ground as easily as a child would pluck a dandelion.

"Yes! Put it back!" Lance growled, hitting the breaks. "We're not out here to steal signs!"

"Naw, we're here to look for fancy getaway cabins and swipe TVs and junk. That's loads better." In the rear view mirror, Lance saw Toad roll his eyes.

"It pays the damn rent," Lance snapped. "We don't do this, we won't have any place to hang more stupid decorations, so put the sign back. I mean it. I've had it with you guys!"

"Oooh!" Pietro smirked. "He's 'had it'. That sounds bad."

"It is bad!" The jeep rattled as the road underneath it buckled slightly. Lance flushed, embarrassed at his lack of control over his power. He hoped the others would view the tremor as some sort of deliberate threat and would see the color in his cheeks as anger.

"Okay, okay!" Pietro seized the sign from Fred and darted out of the jeep in blur of motion. In the time it took Lance to blink, Pietro was back riding shotgun and tapping his foot in impatience.

Lance checked the rear view mirror again and saw that Fred had pulled a king sized Snickers bar from his overall pocket and taken a bite. Lance's stomach rumbled so hard it felt like he had used his powers.

As he pulled out onto the road, he alternated between watching for traffic and glaring at Fred in the mirror. "Where'd you get that?"

"Stockpile. I beat up a vending machine at the mall last week," Fred explained around another bite.

"And did you beat up the security camera too?" Lance demanded.

"Naw, I took care of that, yo. Just like this--" Toad flicked his tongue and snatched the candy out of Fred's over-sized hand.

"Hey, that's mine!" Fred took hold of Toad's tongue and squeezed until the offending appendage turned purple and the candy fell to the floor of the jeep in a puddle of viscous, green Toad saliva.

"Thure. It'th yourth," Toad lisped, massaging his injured tongue.

"No way! It's mine!" Pietro's arm shot into the back seat to snatch the contested prize, eliciting protests and curses from Fred.

"Cut it out! I'm trying to drive here!" Lance reached over to grab the Snickers from Pietro, intending to toss it out the window and remove the source of contention. However, Pietro used his preternatural speed to evade Lance and tossed the candy bar back to Toad, who was promptly tackled by Fred.

Lance turned back to face the two mutants and locked eyes briefly with each of them. "Stop. This. Stupid. Crap. Right. Now. I. Am. Trying. To--"

"Whoa! Watch the road, moron!"

Lance's head flipped forward, and he hit the breaks as Pietro said "whoa," but it was too late. The girl had wandered right into the middle of the road, and by the time Pietro said, "moron," her bleeding body was draped across the front of the jeep. Inspired by self-preservation, he he swerved off the road and back into the sparse woods, the girl's body still plastered to the hood.

"Is she ok?" Fred wondered out loud.

"Yeah, sure." Toad snickered, but then belied his indifference by vomiting out the window.

Lance threw on the breaks again, semi-confident that no one could see them from the road. Ignoring the others' nervous jokes, he got out of the jeep and turned the dead girl onto her back so he could see what was left of her face. He muttered a string of expletives, none of which came close to expressing how he felt about this turn of events.

The jeep hadn't messed her up as bad as he would have thought. Only half of her face was torn and bleeding. The other half still looked as perfect as a cover model's, right down to the trendy make-up, and was framed by long locks of flame-red hair. The weirdest part was she was buck naked, not that Lance wanted to look at her like this. Half her chest was crushed in, and one long, athletic leg was bent at a sickening angle. He felt the neck for a pulse, but she was gone. He swore again.

This was bad.

"Hey, one less X-Man to worry about, right?" Pietro cracked, punctuating his words with a high-pitched chuckle.

"Not cool, yo." Toad jerked a thumb toward toward Fred, who had burst into tears. "Show a little sensitivity, man."

Lance backed away from Fred, poised to defend himself if necessary. He'd been driving. It was his fault. He had killed Jean Grey, and when Fred got around to realizing that, he'd be ready to turn Lance into something he could spread on toast. For now, at least, it looked like he was too sad to care about beating anyone up.

Fred pulled off his shirt, exposing a massive, pendulous gut and arms that looked like a couple of baby whales. He pulled the tee shirt over Jean's head and tugged it down without bothering to stick her arms in the sleeves. The hem of the shirt came to the middle of her thighs, so she was at least decently covered. It didn't matter to her now, obviously, and it wouldn't to Lance, but it did to Fred.

Lance wondered if he'd feel the same if it were Kitty, then decided not to think about that. What they had to deal with now was bad enough without using his imagination to make it worse. Kitty was safe in the X-Mansion, probably making out with that blue fuzzy freak, or gossiping about how much she hated Lance Alvers, but that was better than being road kill like Jean. For once, he hoped Kitty did decide she never wanted to speak to him again. What if she asked about her her friend? Would he be able to lie, say he didn't know?

Of course he could lie. He could be a bastard when he had to, which seemed to be most of the time lately. That's what it took to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table at the Brotherhood of Loser Mutants. And for some reason, it was his job. Everything was his job, and he had to get the rest of them to fall in line, even now. He cleared his throat.

"We've gotta bury her." He crossed his arms, standing with his feet apart.

"But... shouldn't we get her to her family or somethin'?" Fred cradled Jean's body in his arms, her blood saturating his coverall. They'd have to burn those clothes later.

"No way! Yo, you hit your head too? You wanna get busted for vehicular homicide?" Toad shook his head in disgust.

Lance looked around, realizing Pietro had slipped away. He scanned the trees and the slope leading up to the road, becoming increasingly irritated. After about half a minute, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder and turned to see Pietro leaning against a tree.

Pietro smiled. "We're all clear. I checked about ten miles in either direction. No sign of cops coming, so I'm betting no one saw us hit her. We just stick her in the ground. Problem solved."

"Alright." Lance nodded and motioned for the others to follow him back into the woods, toward an outcropping of rocks.

He reached down and moved several small stones out of the way. The others joined him, and before long, they had a hollow area big enough for Jean's body. Fred laid her down, making sure the tee shirt covered her so the undamaged part of her body faced up. After wiping his streaming eyes with the back of a bloody hand, he nodded to Lance.

All four of them backed away from the body, and then Lance shook the earth, making stones tumble from the top of the outcropping. Pietro dodged stray rocks with ease, and Toad climbed a tree to avoid the barrage of bouncing pebbles, but Fred simply stood in front of Lance, letting the rocks pelt him and not seeming to notice. When Lance was finished, Jean's body lay under several tons of broken rock.

They walked back to the jeep, and no one even bothered to argue about driving. Lance turned the key in the ignition and hit the gas, taking the jeep back to the road and heading for Bayville. He didn't feel much like robbery today, not after he'd already committed murder. So technically it was an accident. It still felt like murder.

Why couldn't it have been that self-righteous jerk Summers? Lance tried to imagine Scott's smug face bloody, but it didn't help his mood. X-Man or not, nobody deserved to be taken out like that, not without a reason.

This was the kind of thing bad horror movies were made of. Bad horror movies, and also sappy documentaries, the kind that tell about why some poor bastard spent every day drinking on the porch, or why some jackass blew his brains out with a shotgun. Lance deserved to be haunted. By the ghost of Jean Grey, by his own sickening guilt, it didn't really matter. Everything was always his job, which made it his fault. He'd been driving.

He deserved to burn for it.


	9. The Worst Part

"Uh, Lance?" Pietro tapped him on the arm and pointed to the sky.

"What the hell?" As Lance stared at the streaking flames, he ran through a mental list of mutants he knew, quickly discarding most. Sunspot and Cannonball came closest, but even they didn't look quite like that when they flew. It seemed to be a bird, so whoever it was had to have shapeshifting powers too.

"Just guessin', but I don't think it's one of the good guys!" Toad muttered.

"Yeah, well, last thing we need is a visit from one of the 'good guys'." Lance hit the gas and watched in the rear view mirror as the firebird came closer.

Whoever it was, it didn't look like it wanted a friendly chat. It's beak opened, expelling a jet of flame along with an angry scream that combined the sound of roaring flames with the cry of a hunting hawk. As it got closer, he could see its hooked talons; they looked large enough to pick up Fred, or maybe even the whole jeep.

He had the pedal to the floorboard now, but the thing was still closing in. If he could just get it on the ground, he'd be able to teach it a lesson about messing with the Brotherhood. Not like that was going to happen anytime soon. With his power completely useless, he racked his brains for a plan. Maybe Fred could manage to land a good punch before the bird toasted him. Or maybe Todd could bring it down with his tongue... Who was he kidding? They were about to be deep-fried birdseed.

He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Pietro. "You've gotta get it off our backs."

"What? No way!" Pietro shook his head.

"You're the only one of us who can outrun the damn thing. Now get out!" Lance punctuated his order with a hard shove.

When Lance glanced back at the passenger's seat, Pietro was gone. In the back seat, Fred and Toad both craned their necks to look back.

"Yo, it's working! The thing's chasing Pietro." Toad's voice shook with relief.

"You think he'll be ok?" Fred wondered out loud.

"Dunno." Lance shrugged. "Look, I did what I had to do! It was that or we all got taken out, so just shut up!"

"Hey." Toad put a hand on Lance's shoulder. "You made the right call, man."

Lance shrugged Toad's hand away and stared at the road ahead. Right, wrong, what did it matter? It shouldn't have been his call to make. He didn't even like these guys most of time and for some reason he was—what? Their leader? Their freakin' father figure? He shouldn't have to worry about making sure the landlord stayed off their backs. He shouldn't have to care if Fred got his fat butt thrown in jail for shoplifting candy bars, and he sure as hell shouldn't have to decide which one them lived or died.

For what felt like the millionth time, he thought about how good it would feel to take off on his own. He decided that once he found out about Pietro, one way or the other, he'd finally do it and never look back. He was sick and tired of other people's screw ups. In a dark corner of some mental closet, he knew that wasn't really it, at least not all of it. Truth was, he was sick of _his_ screw ups mattering to everybody else.

Back at the house, Lance found Pietro pacing from the living room to the kitchen and back, looking like a silver streak.

"You made it, yo!"

At the sound of Toad's greeting, Pietro stopped and sat down on the stairs. "Yeah, I lost the bird pretty quick, but then I found something." His eyes were lit up in a way that screamed "crazy scheme".

Whatever it was, Lance decided he didn't care. After all, he was out of here as soon as he could pack his bag.

"What'd you find?" Fred asked.

"Come see!" Pietro motioned for the others to follow him and shot up the stairs.

Toad hopped after him and Fred waddled up the stairs two at a time. Impelled by morbid curiosity, Lance followed. It couldn't hurt to see exactly what kind of moronic lunacy he was leaving behind.

"Whoa- no way!" Toad's voice was filled with awe. "Hey, Lance, you gotta check this out!"

Fred let out a loud sob that was followed by the words, "It's her! It's really her!"

Lance turned the corner at the top of the stairs and stepped into Wanda's bedroom. The girl on the bed was definitely not Pietro's sister. Lance's stomach knotted up in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday, and the tremors in his hands spread downward before he could stop them. The floor shook and the windows rattled before he got a hold of himself.

"It's-- impossible." He moved to bed and knelt beside it, shaking his head in disbelief.

The chest was rising and falling underneath the blankets, and though the face was dirty and caked with blood, it didn't look damaged. There was no way it could really be _her, _ but the unconscious woman in Wanda's bed could have been Jean Grey's twin.

Lance looked up at Pietro, who stood smirking and leaning against the wall. "Where'd you find her?"

"Out in the woods, after I lost the bird."

"Whoever the hell she is, she's not Jean. What were you thinking?" Lance glared at Pietro. "Like we need to call attention to ourselves by finding some beaten up chick! Just take her to the cops and drop her off."

"That's what I was gonna do!" Pietro raises both hands, palms out. "If it wasn't Jean. But it is, so I brought her here and I called--"

"What do you mean 'it is'?" Lance demanded.

"I mean I'm not stupid. I checked. I went back to where we put her and the rocks are all over the place. There's plenty of her blood, but she's not there."

"Not there?" Lance repeated. He touched the girl's face with the back of his hand, almost daring to hope. If this really was Jean, that meant he wasn't a murderer after all.

"If could be a miracle," Fred offered.

"Oh yeah?" Toad snorted. "Why's she get a freakin' guardian angel?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Let's just get her back to the X-Mansion and be done with her." Lance sat down on the floor and slumped against the wall, exhausted.

"Uh, see, we can't do that." Pietro scratched nervously at the back of his head and looked at the wall above Lance's head.

"Just do it!" Lance growled. A tiny part of him screamed that he'd promised himself he wouldn't do this anymore, wouldn't step in and give orders. He ignored it.

"Yeah, well, the thing is, see-" Pietro maneuvered into the doorway, clearly wanting a quick exit. "I called my dad. And he's coming here."

Lance leaned his head back and pounded against the wall, cursing louder with each self-inflicted blow. When he ran out of curses, he stood up, fists balled at his sides in rage. "Why, Pietro? We were done with Magneto! We were free of his crap!"

"Yeah, and look where it's gotten us! Landlord's riding our assess about the rent, nothing in the kitchen but freakin' cockroaches--"

"Hey, I like cockroaches!" Toad interrupted with a nervous chuckle. "Calm down here, guys!"

"My dad says he'll help us out if we hand her over," Pietro continued. "We just need to hold onto her for a few days until he gets here. Then we're golden. Better than stealing TV's, right?"

"Sure, kidnapping is much better." Lance looked down at Jean's expressionless face and almost wished he could trade places with her.

Wherever she was at the moment, it had to be better than this. The worst part was, he'd decided to stay, and not just because he wanted a chunk of Magneto's payoff. He had to stay because, simple as this plan was, they'd screw it up without him.


	10. An Empty Room

"Jean?" Scott knocked several times on the door of her room but received no answer. "Jean? I'm sorry I'm late. I stopped by all your teachers' rooms after school to get your assignments..."

He trailed off as he pushed the door open, revealing an empty room with an unmade bed. Feeling disappointed and more than a little impatient, he busied himself by digging all of her books and papers out of his backpack and organizing them on her desk. He thought about making the bed, but opted against it. After all, they would probably just mess it up again once she came back.

He pulled out his English book, sat down in the chair, and stared unproductively at a grammar exercise, reading the same sentence over and over without digesting it. All he could think about was Jean-- how much it had hurt to lose her, how glad he was to have her back, and how he was going to show her that the second she walked in that door. He tried calling out to her with his mind, but the inside of his head was just as empty and lonely as the room.

"Ah thought Ah'd find ya here."

He startled at the unexpected voice and turned to see Rogue standing in the doorway. As usual, she wore a green-and-black "Goth" ensemble that screamed, "Don't touch me!" and "Please look at me!" at the same time. Long, shiny black gloves covered her hands and disappeared into the wide sleeves of her high-necked green velvet dress. A pair of high-heeled boots with lots of silver buckles came up to her knees, and between the tops of her boots and the hem of her dress, her thighs were covered by thick black tights. Even her face was hidden under a layer of dramatically pale make-up, though today it was streaked with black mascara, as if she'd been crying.

"Did Jean send you?" he asked hopefully.

Rogue grimaced and shook her head. "No. The Professor did." She sighed, stepped inside the room, and closed the door behind her.

"What is it? Something wrong?" Scott put his book down and glanced at his watch-- four thirty. Where was Jean? He hoped whatever Rogue had to say wouldn't take long. With Jean being a telepath, he didn't have to worry about her getting jealous, but still, he didn't like the idea of her opening up the door of her own room and finding him with Rogue.

"Yeah, Scott. Somethin's very wrong."

She pulled a chair up beside his and sat down so that their knees were almost touching. That alone was sufficient to raise alarm bells. Even though her clothes protected her from accidentally using her powers, Rogue instinctively avoided touch. What she did next told him that the world as he knew it had been turned upside down. She placed a gloved hand over one of his and squeezed.

His mouth went dry with dread. "Rogue? What is it?"

"It's Jean. Scott, she's gone again, and she's not comin' back. Ah'm sorry."

"Gone?" he repeated, unable to formulate a real question.

"Logan saw 'er take off after she turned inta somethin' else. Look, the Professor knows more 'bout it than Ah do. He wants to see all of us in the briefin' room. Ah just wanted to be the one to tell you, because you were always a good friend t' me..." She shrugs. "I know nothin' helps, but Ah wanted t' be here for you."

"No!" He shook his head hard. "There's gotta be a way to get her back! I won't accept that she's lost and there's nothing we can do about it. Giving up-- that's not what Professor X taught us."

Rogue squeezed his hand again and smiled sadly. "Ah hope yer right, and if there's somethin'--anythin'!-- Ah can do..."

He nodded and put his other hand over hers. "For now, just don't give up on her, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Rogue pulled her hand back and walked to the doorway. "You comin'?"

"Yeah."

Scott followed her out the door and into the briefing room where all the teachers, as well as the older students, had gathered. Professor X sat at the front of the room with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his fingers steepled under his chin. Several of them glanced at him and then averted their eyes. Kitty stared a little longer than the rest, and Kurt 'ported across the room to squeeze his shoulder for a moment, but the others kept their focus on Professor X. Rogue hovered by his side, arms folded across her chest.

"As you are aware," the professor began, "one of our students has gone missing."

"Cut the crap, Chuck. Jean's dead."

Several of the students turned to look at Logan, who stood leaning against the back wall.

"It is not as... simple as that, Logan." Xavier shook his head. "Jean has merged with a being known as the Dark Phoenix, guardian of the heart of reality. For reasons we do not understand, this being is controlling her."

"Can't you find her with Cerebro?" Scott interrupted. "Jean's an omega level mutant! She should be a red flag on your radar screen!"

"Jean is an omega level _psychic_, Scott. The Dark Phoenix is able to use her power to hide itself from Cerebro. We have no idea where the Phoenix is now, but I fear it may return. It is capable of taking Jean's form or its own. If any of you believe you see or hear from Jean, you must contact me immediately so appropriate measures may be taken. Do you understand?"

With the exception of Scott, the students all nodded and muttered their assent.

"What do you mean by 'appropriate measures'?" Scott demanded.

"Yeah, like, we're gonna get Jean back, right?" Kitty echoed.

Though the students looked to Xavier, it was Logan who answered.

"Like I said, Jean's dead." He turned and stalked from the room.

"No, she's not!" Scott called after him. Seeing the mixture of sympathy and embarrassment on the other's faces, he repeated, "She's not."

Not wanting to hear any more, he turned and walked out the door.

_Can I trust you to inform me if you find her or hear from her? _The Professor's mind-voice somehow made that simple question into a threat.

_If I said, 'no,' would you let me walk out of here? Look, I'm an X-Man. Trust me to do the right thing. _

_Scott, I sympathize with your feelings for Jean. However, I must warn you that after Logan's last encounter with the Dark Phoenix, he is only alive because of his healing factor. You are more than an X-Man, you are a leader, and I cannot afford to lose you as well as Jean! _

_That's funny, Professor. Didn't you say that pushing Jean like that is what made her go with the Phoenix? Right now I wonder if you're any different than the people you complain about. They look at us and all they see is a scary mutant. You look and all you see is a tool. We're neither. We're just people. It's my life, and if I risk it going after Jean its my own damn business! _

_I urge to you consider--_

_No! Get out of my head. This conversation is over. _

He had reached a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony, and he stepped outside. The cold air smelled like woodsmoke and burning leaves, not exactly pleasant, but at least different than being inside. He needed "different".

"Scott? Can Ah join you?"

He had been too busy fuming at Xavier to hear Rogue following behind him, and he jumped a little at the sound of her voice. He didn't know whether or not he was glad to see her, so he just shrugged and continued to stare out at the grounds.

"Ah always kinda wished Jean wasn't here. No! Don't-- just, look, what Ah mean is, she was just always so happy an' in control an' perfect--"

"You didn't know her, Rogue. You never gave her a chance. If you had, you would've seen that she wasn't what everyone wanted her to be." He leaned heavily on the railing, feeling as drained as if Rogue had just kissed him.

"Ah... Ah know that. Now. An' seein' what this is doin' t' you... Ah just want t' say that if Ah find Jean first, Ah'm comin' t' you, not the Professor."

"Thanks." He forced himself to look at her and smile. "What about the others? Kurt, Kitty...?"

"Ah don't know, but Ah'm pretty sure they'll feel the same way Ah do."

"I hope you're right."

He felt her gloved arm slip around his shoulders for a moment and then heard the balcony door closing behind her. 


	11. To Make Her Happy

Awareness drifted through thoughts and dreams, wandering the astral plane with the sneaker-clad feet of a teenage girl. Above the awareness, the Phoenix flew on wings of flame, screaming in frustrated rage. This astral plane was far too much like her last prison, the crystal. She needed out, but the newer moiety of her consciousness must lead her back into the body, and to do that, she must remember. The awareness cast her own mind out like a net, not finding it remarkable that she could do so, although it was. She founds nothing unusual, because she had no memories with which to compare anything. There was only the awareness and the thoughts it found.

_What does my dad want with her, anyway? What can she do that's so great? God, I hope she doesn't make me hex her. Whatever my dad needs her for, it's gotta be important. He wouldn't have asked me to do this if it wasn't for the best. _Those thoughts were somehow the closest to the awareness and were mingled with images of a tall, silver-haired man with an incongruously young face and body. In those images, the silver-haired man laughed and played with a black-haired little girl, but those images felt false, like the colorful pictures on a flat screen in some of the other memories. There were other images hidden beneath them, buried, but rotten and reeking. A chair. A needle. A white jacket with straps. A padded room whose stoic walls swallowed every scream.

_Man, this is stupid. I should take her back. I should just freakin' pick her up, drive her to the X-Mansion, and dump her on the doorstep. Maybe if I wait till Wanda takes a break. She's gotta eat or use the bathroom sometime, right? Then I could be done with all this. No more playing big bro to the losers in this house, no more high school. Hell, no more Kitty-freakin'-Pryde looking at me like I'm a piece of crap. I'll go... somewhere. I'll find... something to do. _Those thoughts trembled with a frustration that reverberated beyond their source.

_Wanda looks so hot right now. She always looks hot. And the way she's watchin' over Jean, it's real sweet. Nobody gets that about her; they just see the scary Scarlet Witch, but I know there's more to her than that. It's not like we're just our powers, right? Oh, hey-- a fly! When'd that get in here? I though I got 'em all. Damn, I'm hungry. Even Fred's stash is empty, and I don't care what Lance says, there ain't any cockroaches where I can find 'em. Gotta wait till she's not looking. She hates it when I eat flies... _

_Jean? I know you're out there. _That thought was both farther away and closer than all the others, but the contradiction didn't bother the awareness. On the astral plane, contradictions were commonplace. _Jean, I'm not an X-Man without you. I look at these kids I'm supposed to teach and train, and I just... don't... care. Rogue? What's she doing here. I want to be alone. I should be polite; Jean always wanted everyone to get along, even with Rogue. Why the hell does she dress like that-- like she wants someone to grab her and get a dose of her powers? And what's with the touching? I know she's wearing gloves, but still, I wish she wouldn't. Through the glove, her hand feels just like Jean's. It would be nice if I could just... Damn it! What am I thinking? Jean's still out there, no matter what Logan and the professor say. I don't need a distraction. I don't need comfort. I need some help finding her. _

_Ah'm a bad person. That's all there is to it. Ah want Jean back. Ah do! Ah'm here holdin' Scott's hand and tellin' 'im we'll find 'er, an' promisin' to help, an' Ah mean it... But if it weren't for my powers... If Ah could have anythin' with Scott, if Ah had anythin' to lose... would Ah still want 'er back? Or would Ah wish she'd stay gone? Doesn't matter. Ah can't give 'im what he needs, can't be his girlfriend, can't be anyone's girlfriend. So Ah have to help bring her back. For Scott. He deserves more than Ah have. He deserves more than t' be alone. _

_Jean. _The awareness turned the word over and over in her mind, pulling it, twisting, it, seeing how all the strings attached to it bent and stretched. _Jean. Scott. _Those words were names tied to feelings and memories. So many strings connected those two names: _Logan. Rogue. The professor. Jean-- _that name had more significance than the rest. The name "Jean" had so many memories tied to it that they drug the awareness down, pulling her through the astral plane like a caught fish. The Phoenix followed, shrieking with triumph.

Jean opened her eyes. The site of Wanda's room felt like a visual assault. On the ceiling, brown water damage spots coexisted with black and green mold. The walls had what appeared to be a fresh coat of black paint, but recent cracks ran from floor to ceiling. A thick layer of discarded clothing carpeted the floor, and air smelled stale, like a hamper. Wanda herself perched on the edge of the bed near Jean, looking miraculously well-groomed, given her surroundings. Across the room, Lance sat on the floor with one knee drawn up to his chest and the other leg extended. Toad lounged in the doorway, tapping his fingers on the door jam and staring at Wanda.

"How the hell did I get here?" Jean demanded out loud. Using her voice made her head hurt, and she clapped a hand to her forehead. Her face felt rough and sticky, and when she looked at her hand, it was caked with blood. "Did I..." She struggles to remember what she was doing before this. "Did I fall off Logan's bike? Where's Logan?"

Wanda and Lance exchanged a look. The Scarlet Witch turned to face Jean and said, "Use your powers and I'll hex you. Sorry. Dad's orders."

"You really don't want to do this." Jean shook her head for emphasis. "When the professor finds out about this, you think Magneto's going to protect you? You think he cares about you?"

"That's what I said," Lance agreed. "But you know what? As long as he pays the frickin' rent for the next year, I don't care if he cares."

"The rent? You're worried about that?" Jean forced herself to laugh. "I'd be more worried about the X-Men."

"Yo-- here's the thing," Toad interrupted. "The professor, he's got this machine that finds mutants, right? And you've been here for like a whole day now, so I don't think he's looking. And if he does catch up to Magneto, we've got plausible deniability out the wazoo. I mean, who'd believe us losers caught Jean Grey?"

She considered using her telekinesis to smack him against the moldy ceiling. Even the thought of that kind of exertion made her already-sore head throb. With a groan, she laid back on the pillow decided that, for now, she would wait.

She turned her head to look at Lance. He had always been the closest thing the Brotherhood had to brains or sanity, which wasn't saying much, but it might give her something to work with. "Look, if you're that worried about the rent, just come live at the X-Mansion. You know Xavier won't turn you away."

"I tried that." Lance chuckled humorlessly. "Forget it."

An unrecognizable blur of motion streaked across the room and then came to a sudden stop, resolving into Pietro. "He's here."

"Dad?" Wanda asked, a goofy grin on her face.

Pietro shook his head. "No, some creepy guy with a ponytail. Says his name's Wyngarde."

"Wyngarde?" Lance stood up, his eyes darting around the room. "You mean Master--"

Jean awakened in her bed at the estate. She flung an arm over her eyes to shield them from the midmorning sun that streamed through the stained glass, making little rainbow-colored flecks on the white, lacy bedspread. The damage, however, was done; the light had shattered her pleasant morning drowsiness, replacing it with restlessness and hunger. She sighed, inhaling the scents of clean linen and the fresh lavender that Carrie must have brought in while she slept.

Carrie had also left her favorite slippers by the side of the bed and had draped a clean robe over the chair. Jean shrugged into the robe and nestled her feet in the slippers, wiggling her toes to make the bunny noses twitch in greeting. The bunny slippers were ancient; the right one had a missing eye, and the left a torn ear. Jason had bought her replacements, expensive designer things made of silk and embroidered with sequins, but Jean still preferred her old bunnies, much to Jason's chagrin. Poor man; he wanted so much to make her happy that he sometimes forgot how little she really needed.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to Freak of Something, Midnight Angels, MysNiWol, Ondage, Shadow Hand Zealot, Tom Dajin, bluefalcon1138, jlp511, , sailormoon846212, and zodiacdragonHatori for adding this story to alerts. I know updates are coming slowly, but I do intend to finish. Thanks for reading!


	12. Died and Went to Heaven

"What did you do to her?" Lance asked, glancing from Wyngarde to Jean, who now wore a vacuous expression of bliss.

"I've immersed her in a reality she appears to be accepting for the moment," Wyngarde replied, smiling. Turning to Jean, he asked, "Shall we go for a walk in the garden?"

"That would be nice." Jean's grin broadened and her eyes swept over Wyngarde's face, caressing it. She rose to her feet and stood beside him.

With her in a pair of Wanda's pajamas and Wyngarde in a tailed coat, knickers, and a lacy white blouse, they made quite a pair. Lance wondered which of them would be more likely to get thrown in the loony bin and decided Wyngarde definitely looked like the crazier of the two.

"Yo, could make Wanda look at me that way?" Toad wondered.

The fly he had been tracking landed on the wall, and he lashed out with his tongue, only to have it caught on a protruding nail. When he tried to retract the tongue, his feet were pulled from beneath him, and he fell hard on the only section of floor not covered with dirty clothing.

"Thee hethed me, didn't thee?" Toad lisped as he struggled to his feet and used both hands to free his trapped tongue.

"It would appear so," Wyngarde agreed. "And no, I couldn't permanently alter Wanda's perception of you. Maintaining an illusion of sufficient caliber requires concentration, as well as my attention being devoted to the subject." He ran a finger down Jean's cheek, eliciting a soft sigh of contentment from her.

Wanda shook her head. "That's sick."

"At least she's in one--" Lance began, but when his surroundings changed, he forgot what he had been about to say.

They were in a mansion. It wasn't a dark, stuffy place like the X-Mansion, but more like the set of a TV show about spoiled rich people in California. The furniture all looked new and white, and everywhere he looked there was something soft to sit on like an overstuffed white chair or a futon. An open archway lead into a dining room with a glass table and fancy lawn chairs all around it. At the head of the table, Jason Wyngarde occupied one of the chairs, and from the superior smirk on his face it may as well have been a throne. Jean perched on one of his knees, wearing a white, strapless sun dress that covered very little of her deeply-bronzed skin. On the table in front of them, a gigantic cake had the words, "Congratulations, Jean" painted on it.

"Whoa." Wanda's eyes widened as she turned her head, taking in the lavish surroundings.

"Yo, you mind if we grab some cake?" Toad asked.

Fred had already helped himself to a slice the size of a loaf of bread, and Pietro had darted off to explore the rest of the illusion.

"It's not real cake, moron." Lance ignored the rumbling in his own stomach and fixed his eyes on Wyngarde. "What is this?"

It was Jean who answered. "Oh, Jason! You've invited all my friends to my going away party! Don't worry about me, Lance. Studying with professor Magneto will be a dream come true. And Jason is taking me himself."

"Friends?" Toad chuckled. "You've really done a number on her!" He twirled his index finger next to he head for emphasis.

"How long are you gonna keep this up?" Lance asked.

"Until I have delivered her safely into Magneto's care." Wyngarde stroked Jean's hair as if petting an exotic cat. "For the time being, she will know only exquisite contentment."

"It still seems kinda sick," Wanda muttered, glaring at Wyngarde's hand, which had drifted to Jean's thigh. "But I guess if this is how my dad wants her brought in..."

"Your father understands the magnitude of this creature's powers. A lion cannot be tamed by force."

The illusion vanished, leaving them once again in the stale-smelling confines of Wanda's bedroom. Fred stared at his empty hands as if wondering where the cake had gone, Wanda ran her eyes over the mess and mold, sighing, and Toad leaned back against the wall, looking glad to be "home".

Lance shrugged. "So take her already. And tell Magneto we want the money now."

Wyngarde smirked as he glanced around the room. "I will be sure to communicate the urgency of your need for financial assistance. Come, Jean." He tugged on her arm, and she followed him toward the door.

In the doorway of Wanda's room, Jean craned her neck to look back at them and smile. "Thank you all for coming to my party."

"Yeah, no problem," Toad muttered.

"Goodbye, Jean!" Fred called, smiling and waving.

"See ya!" Pietro added.

Lance and Wanda exchanged a look. Neither of them bothered speaking to Jean, though for all Lance knew, the version of him in her mind had thought of the perfect parting words.

Once Wyndgarde was out of earshot, Lance muttered, "I don't like it."

"Yo, two days ago she was roadkill and now she's eating cake in a beach house. It's like she freakin' died and went to Heaven, right?" Toad replied.

"He's taking real good care of Jean," Fred agreed.

"We know what dad wants with her!" Pietro rubbed his hands together and grinned. "We know he wants to pay us for bringin' her in. We're back in good with Magneto now! We'll be doing jobs, paying the rent. Before you know it, we'll have our own beach house."

"Whatever our father wants, it's what's best for all mutants," Wanda added softly, sounding as if she wanted to convince herself.

"He seemed almost afraid of her," Lance mused, not really caring if anyone heard or replied. "'You can't tame a lion by force...' Why a lion? Why's he thinking of her like a dangerous animal?"

"Like the X-Men haven't kicked our butts before?" Toad snickered. "I'm afraid of Jean! Especially if she ever remembers the accident. Whoo-boy! We'd be toast. 'Swhy I'm just as glad Magneto's got a leash on her."

"Whatever. It's over now." Lance shrugged and sighed.

"What now?" Fred asked, looking at his empty hands as if still envisioning the illusory cake.

"Now we go to school." Lance sighed again. A day of listening to clueless teachers and pretending he cared about crap like algebra and history didn't exactly appeal, but at least they had food there.


	13. All Hollow

"Jason? I-- I'm nervous." Jean wiped one sweaty palm on the front of her pink cashmere sweater, too distracted to worry about the dry cleaning bill.

Where ever she looked, a friendly face smiled in her direction. A group of young men in track sweats waved to her as they jogged between the ivy covered brick buildings. A bespectacled girl grinned over the edge of a book while her companion, a blond wearing a jacket with three omegas, called "hello".

"Nonsense." Jason snorted. "It's perfect here. I've seen to that."

"It's... I don't know. It's almost too perfect." She frowned down at her white ballet flats and shifted her backpack by shrugging. "They're all hollow."

"Hollow," Jason repeated, sounding offended.

"I know-- it sounds crazy, doesn't it? It's just..." She trailed off as she watched an overweight, red-faced boy dive for a Frisbee. His mouth hung open in an expression of intense concentration, but she couldn't actually feel his desire for the plastic disc, and that bothered her. "I keep feeling like there should be more. It's like watching TV with the sound off. I'm... missing something, or something's missing."

"You are correct." Jason took one of her sweaty hands in both of his. "That does sound crazy."

"Freshman jitters, I guess." Jean laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand gratefully. "It's just so amazing that Professor Magneto wants to meet me! I mean, who am I?"

Jason muttered something encouraging, but she didn't hear him over the echo of her own question-- _who am I? _For a moment, her consciousness filled with fire, and in the flames danced faceless people who were somehow more real than those here with her on the campus.

They entered one of the buildings and ascended a wide marble staircase. With her free hand, she reached for the banister, only to recoil as her hand touched a damp, sticky wad of chewing gum.

"Disgusting!" she groaned. "You would think college students would have more maturity."

"Perhaps in a... perfect world." Jason smirked.

She rolled her eyes and let him lead her down a hallway lined with bulletin boards advertising concerts, part time job openings, and tutoring services. Afternoon light streamed through a distant window, scattering through the chalk dust and creating a pleasant haze. Halfway to the end of the hallway, they stopped at a plain wooden door, where Jason knocked.

"Come in!" The voice calling from the other side had a theatrical ring to it, as if its owner were accustomed to delivering grand speeches in a large lecture hall.

"Professor Magneto?" Jean whispered, nudging Jason as he swung the door open.

"Professor?" The man inside the office rose from behind a battered, but elegant, wooden desk cluttered with papers and books. He wore a wool blazer over a crisp linen shirt and had thick, silver hair that contrasted with his youthful face.

"I have brought your new _student,_" Jason said, his hand tightening painfully on Jean's before he let go of it and draped his arm around her shoulders. "And I have taken great pains to protect her."

"Almost a shame I cannot see the show, but it would be unacceptable to expose myself to the risk." Professor Magneto tapped the side of his head, and Jean would have sworn that she heard the ring of metal. He perched on the edge of the desk, displacing a stack of exam papers, and peered at Jean. "Are you enjoying visions of ivy-covered walls and carefree young people with no concern beyond their own academic trivialities?"

"I, um, I think it's nice here." She glanced from the Professor to Jason, who's eyes had narrowed in anger.

"My capabilities are not without their limits, _Professor," _Jason snapped. "Especially when working with a young woman as... special as my Jean."

"_Your _Jean?" Professor Magneto gave a rich, theatrical laugh that held no amusement, only contempt. "You believe that because you have controlled her thus far, she is-- what?-- your pet? Make no mistake; a phoenix will not be caged by mere illusion."

Jean knew she should stand up for Jason, for the man who had taken her in when she had no where to go, given her a home, food, clothing, a chance to go to school. She should say something, but no words came to mind, and so she remained silent as the man she loved grew more distressed.

"I warn you," Jason snarled. "Keep pressing the boundaries like this, and you will prove yourself right. Why contract me to bring her if you would undermine my attempts to keep her secure?"

"You were only a courier, Wyngarde." Professor Magneto reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulled out a metallic object that looked like a collar. "I have a gift for you, Jean."

Jean blinked and saw that she had been mistaken. It wasn't a collar, but a gem-studded choker. Still, she backed away as the professor came toward her with it.

"That would be unnecessary if you would let me work with her--" Jason began.

"Unnecessary? Tell that to the smoldering remains of Emperor D'Ken's men, or to my son, who escaped the wrath of the Phoenix only by virtue of his speed. Or speak with Logan, who has recently been forced to regenerate over eighty percent of his cellular mass."

"Logan?" Jason swallowed and removed his arm from Jean's shoulders.

"Yes, Logan. She is as dangerous to friends as to foes."

"How do you know this?"

Professor Magneto lunged forward and snapped the necklace in place around Jean's throat and she stumbled as the world began to spin. When she rose to her feet once more, the illusory academic paradise was gone, replaced by a modern, industrial-looking office with harsh artificial lights. Magneto no longer looked the part of the kindly scholar; his woolen jacket was replaced with a steaming red cape, and a metal helmet obscured his silver hair.

"-- from Xavier himself," Magneto was saying. "He implored me to set aside our differences in order to help neutralize the threat of the Dark Phoenix."

"I see," Wyngarde muttered.

"You're sick!" Jean snarled at Wyngarde.

She put her hands on her temples and pressed as if she could squeeze out his lies. She remembered being orphaned and friendless, serving illusory meals to drunken shadow-puppets in a seedy bar that Wyndgarde dreamed for her. Worse, she remembered a handsome millionaire sweeping her off her feet, taking her home to his beach house, feeding her caviar in front of a roaring fire and laughing when she said she'd rather have Cocoa Puffs. She remembered all the times he pushed her away, saying he could never take advantage of her trust and gratitude, and the night when he finally gave up.

She wanted to vomit. No, she wanted to retaliate, to turn his mind inside out-- "Aagh!" she screamed as the collar responded to her powers, taking energy from her telepathy and converting it into a wave of pain.

"Calm yourself!" Magneto barked. "Whatever you remember, I assure you that you were... unharmed, as per my instructions."

"None of it was real?" she asked, looking from one villain to the other. With her powers out of commission, she had no reason to trust either, but somehow she needed the reassurance.

"All an illusion concocted to please you." Wyngarde smirked.

"In the real world, I would never--" Jean began.

Wyngarde opened his mouth, but Magneto raised a hand to silence him. "It was a dream. No more, Jean. Mastermind, you are dismissed."

When the door closed behind Wyngarde, Jean squared her shoulders and faced Magneto. "Take me back to the professor, now, before the X-Men make things difficult for you."

"I have considered doing just that." As if of its own volition, Magneto's chair slid from behind the desk and into place behind him, and he sat down in it without taking his eyes from hers. "However, I have decided that you are more useful to mutant kind alive."

"What? No, you're trying to trick me. You're just like Wyngarde, hoping to make me loyal to you by convincing me I don't have anyone else."

"No." Magneto leaned forward, shaking his head slowly. "Had I wanted to earn your loyalty that way, I would simply have employed Wyngarde to continue the illusion. I speak the simple truth when I say that Charles Xavier would have you put down like a rabid animal. If you were somehow to escape from here and return to the X-Mansion, you would be going to your own execution."

"But I don't even remember..." Jean closed her eyes, letting her mind fill with strangely soothing flames. "I can't even remember what I did."

"That is of no importance." Magneto flicked his wrist as if brushing aside an insect. "What matters is what you will be able to help me accomplish."


	14. A Measure of Risk

In her dreams, she swallowed bright-burning stars, serenading planets with plasma screams. She sailed through the void on pinions kissed by solar winds. She was worshiped as a goddess and reviled as a demon, her praises sang from bended knee, her name declared profane. She burned them all, feasting on the energies of dying minds.

"Jean."

The syllable tore through the astral plane, catching in her consciousness like the barb of a harpoon. She wanted to burn the one who spoke the offending word, but the flame turned inward, searing her until she woke, whimpering. Her eyes flew open, seeking any sensory distraction from the pain.

"Jean, I need you to stop doing that."

Those words came from a woman who stood silhouetted against the large, grubby windows of what Jean guessed to be her makeshift holding cell. The bed on which Jean lay had a thin mattress with uncomfortable springs, and both of her arms ached from being chained to the headboard. She bent her elbows and pulled herself up to a sitting position, letting the blanket and sheet fall away. Someone had dressed her in a long nightgown made of black satin and trimmed with a modest amount of lace. She wondered who had undressed her, but brushed away that frivolous thought, embarrassed that it had even crossed her mind. There were more important matters to consider, like how she could get out of here without using her powers and triggering the collar again.

"You've stopped. Very good, dear," the stranger said, speaking with a polished British accent.

The woman crossed the room and sat casually on the end of Jean's bed, twisting sideways and leaning on one elbow. While she studied Jean's face, she crossed one white-stockinged leg over the other and used her free arm to arrange the fabric of a trailing white cape. Beneath the cape, she wore only a white corset and matching panties. Dressed and posed as she was, she would have looked like a Vargas girl, were it not for her expression. Something about the woman's face reminded Jean of a bird of prey, or of Storm when she was about to fry an enemy with lightning or sentence a student to detention in the danger room.

"Who are you?" Jean demanded, meeting the woman's ice-blue eyes and forcing her voice to stay steady.

"I do realize this will sound melodramatic, but I am the only person capable of assisting with your current... situation. Members of my organization know me as the White Queen, but since we are going to become so close, you may call me Emma, Emma Frost." She extended a white-gloved hand and then let it fall with an irritated glance at Jean's handcuffs.

"Emma," Jean repeated, trying to make herself sound friendly. "Are you here to rescue me from Magneto?"

"Magneto?" Emma chuckled and shook her head. "Magneto is the least of your concerns, dear. I am here to save you from the Dark Phoenix."

"I don't even know what that is! If you would just help me get to the Professor, he could help me understand what's going on, he could help me... get a hold of myself." She bit her lip, ashamed at admitting weakness in front of someone who oozed authority, even in her underwear. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, letting her head rest on her bound hands. A lock of hair fell in front of her face, tickling her nose and making her want to scream.

"I'm afraid you underestimate Charles." Emma sighed, and Jean felt cool fingers on her forehead as the White Queen brushed away the offending lock of hair.

When Jean opened her eyes, she saw Emma reach into the front of her corset and pull out a tiny key, which she then used to free Jean's hands.

"What do you mean I underestimate him?" Jean asked, chaffing at her wrists and feeling a mixture of relief and pain.

"You believe his attachment to his students is so great that he would risk the possibility of unleashing the Phoenix. However, I know Charles surprisingly well, and I can say with all certainty that he is willing to accept collateral damage. In this case, that collateral damage would be _you." _

"But you are willing to risk freeing this thing, this Phoenix force?" Jean swept her eyes over Emma, from the harsh angles of her face to the spikes of her stiletto heels. "Why do you care so much?"

"I don't." Emma shrugged, making her cape fall away from her bare shoulders. "I am simply more willing to take a calculated risk in order to benefit my interests. Charles is an idealist. I am a capitalist. The Phoenix is a valuable enough asset to be worth taking on a measure of uncertainty."

Jean stood and walked toward the window, even though the glass was too dirty to provide any view of the outside. She stared at the grime spattered on the glass like so many Rorschach ink blots, her imagination making a monster out of each patch of dust. Finding no solace in the window, she pivoted to face Emma again.

"What is it you want from me?"

Emma grinned and leaned back on both elbows. "There. Now you're asking the right question! For now, I want us to get to know each other. We will need to be able to work together. Once we have established a working partnership, then we can recreate the Heart of Reality."

"You mean the crystal? The place where it-- where the Phoenix was imprisoned?" Anger blazed up inside her. She wanted to clothe Emma in a mantle of fire and watch those ice-blue eyes melt. Of their own volition, her hands tore at the collar that shackled her powers. Her nails scraped the skin of her neck, but she hardly felt the wounds.

Emma snapped to her feet, strode across the room in two crisp steps, and snatched Jean by the wrists. When Jean tried to flail her way free, Emma moved her hands down to Jean's forearms. "Control yourself, Jean! Do not allow this... _creature _control you! You're a mutant. You're a telepath, for God's sake."

Jean's body shook with each pulse of the collar, and each bolt of pain fueled the anger of the creature inside her, making it lash out again. "I can't!" she wailed through clenched teeth.

"You will!" Emma dropped one of her arms and seized her by the chin, pulling Jean's face close to hers. When their eyes met, Emma's mouth opened, and for a moment her eyebrow's shot up in fear. Her fingers clenched down harder on Jean's chin, and her eyes narrowed in concentration.

With the next pulse of the collar, Jean felt Emma's mind penetrate her own, taking hold of the tiny portion not already in the grip of the Phoenix.

"_Jean, watch!" _Emma's mind-voice barked the order.

Superimposed on Emma's grim face, Jean saw Logan burst into flame and writhe on the ground, screaming until his lungs shriveled into cinders. She watched Kitty, Rogue, Kurt, and Scott run from a flaming monster only to be engulfed by the creature's blazing scream. Kurt teleported away, pulling Kitty with him, but Rogue and Scott stumbled through the flames, collapsing on each other before ceasing to move altogether.

"No," Jean whispered, reaching for her friends and finding Emma's shoulder instead.

"Let me help you, Jean," Emma crooned. "You need my help. I can stop you from hurting your friends, but only with your cooperation." She let her hand fall away from Jean's chin and took a step back, retracting her telepathic probe at the same time.

"You bitch," Jean muttered, looking down at her own bloodied hands and then up at Emma. "You went into my head without my permission, twisted my memories--"

"I've never allowed myself to be restricted by Xavier's sensibilities. I do what is necessary. I did warn you that we will need to work together if you hope to escape from the Dark Phoenix, and I may have just saved your bloody life."

Jean nodded slowly, feeling her anger fade, replaced with fear. "What if we can't contain it? What then?"

"Best not ask."

"I wasn't exactly asking." Jean took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "What I was going to say is this: if you and I can't contain the Phoenix, you have to promise you'll contact Xavier and let him bring in the X-Men. Let him do what needs to be done."

"And why would I agree to that?"

"Because if the world burns, you won't have any place to play your little power games."

She half expected a cold refusal, but instead, Emma smiled and lowered her chin in a slow, gracious nod. "I see we are understanding each other already. Very well. You have my word; if the Phoenix cannot be contained, I will call upon every available resource to destroy it."


	15. The Right Side

Lance shoved a stack of books in his locker, ignoring Ms. Haskill's nagging voice in his head, admonishing him not to "waste his talents" and telling him he was a "bright young man". _Yeah, right, you old bat. You try doing quadratic equations when one of your room mates just punched through the wall again and another one's hunting cockroaches with his tongue. _He slammed the locker hard, earning a dirty look from a skinny blonde chick and a curse from some dork in a letter jacket. As he walked down the hallway toward the door, he kept his eyes on the dirty blue carpet, not wanting to risk seeing any of the X-geeks.

He veered toward the windows, away from the lockers, as he walked past the place where Jean Grey's was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Summers and Wagner standing in front of the locker, the former shuffling through book and papers with both hands, the latter shaking his head.

"I don't think she's worried about English class, jah?" Kurt said.

"I know Jean!" Scott barked. "When she gets back, she'll start worrying about being behind, and I want her to have everything she needs."

Kurt only sighed and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

Lance exhaled heavily, just now realizing that he had been holding his breath as he walked past the two X-Men. _Stupid! _he berated himself. This was how people got caught, why most villains couldn't cut it. They got paranoid, panicked, and screwed up. He forced himself to raise his chin and walk at a normal pace, ignoring the trickle of cold sweat running down his sides.

The sound of sobbing came from the cafeteria, and his head swiveled involuntarily, even as he told himself he couldn't care less what had made some spoiled Bayville brat cry. When he caught sight of a long brown ponytail, his feet changed course of their own volition and he made his way through the maze of plastic chairs and empty tables until he stood behind the crying girl who sat alone, staring at something in her hand.

"Kitty?"

"Hey, Lance." She sniffled loudly, reached into her purse for a wad of tissues, and started wiping at her face, still holding the mysterious object in one hand. She glanced up at Lance and then back at the object. "I, like, found this in my purse."

He straddled the chair next to her, leaned over the back of it, and gently peeled her fingers away from what turned out to be a tube of lip gloss. He held the pink plastic cylinder close to his face and noted that it had a picture of what looked like fluffy purple clouds and the words "Cotton Candy" printed in a cheerful font. After dropping it on the table, he shrugged. "So?"

"So it was, like, Jean's!" Kitty snatched the lip gloss from the table, stuffed it into her purse, and stood up. "I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand!"

She started marching toward the door, ponytail swinging behind her.

"Kitty..."

"Like, what?" she snapped, pivoting to face him.

He shrugged and looked down at his worn sneakers, then forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, like, join the club! Everybody says that-- Ms. Haskell, Mr. Jacobs, Bob the custodian, everybody says, 'I'm sorry' like it's their fault or something."

"I know Jean was your friend," he muttered, his words sounding so lame he wanted to shake himself.

"My friend? She was, like, family! How would you feel if Toad or Blob or-- no, like, never mind. You call yourselves the 'Brotherhood,' but you don't even get what it means." A fresh stream of tears started down her face, but she didn't turn away.

Lance stepped toward her and let her lean on his shoulder, her tears soaking through his shirt. He ran a hand up and down her back, wrapping his other arm around her waist and squeezing. As usual, he couldn't decide whether he liked her, wanted her, or hated her. Where did she get off telling him he didn't understand family? He'd put his ass on the line for those losers more times than he could count, stayed even when he's rather be anywhere else. He'd kept quiet while they helped a supervillain kidnap an eighteen year old girl, just so they could pay the freakin' rent. If that wasn't family, what was?

"You d-don't even know the worst part!" Kitty sniffled. "Jean's still alive, I know she is, and the professor wants to--" She took a deep shuddering breath and nuzzled her face against his chest like an animal trying to burrow into the ground.

"Wants to what, Kitty?"

"He says she's, like, too dangerous because of this thing that came out of a crystal. Even Mr. Logan agrees with him! He's scared of the Dark Phoenix, and I haven't seen anything else that could scare him!"

Lance's mouth went dry. He took Kitty by the shoulders and pushed her out to arm's length so he could look her in the eyes. "You're saying that Professor Xavier wants to kill Jean Grey because this thing is too dangerous?"

She nodded. "It's, like, the cause of this whole intergalactic war or something. Unless the professor can get it under control, the aliens are coming back for it, and they won't much care what happens to Earth while they hunt it down."

"And if Magneto has her when they get here..." Lance muttered.

"What do you mean if Magneto has her?" Kitty shrugged his hands away and took a step back, putting her hands on her hips. "What do you know, Alvers?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed her by the elbow, planning to drag her out of the cafeteria.

She phased through his hand and shook her head, repeating, "What do you know?"

"Look, lets go get Nightcrawler and Cyclops before I explain. I don't want to have to tell the story twice."

"Rogue too," Kitty added, her face brightening slightly.

"Yeah, Rogue too. And Drake and Maddrox whoever the hell else," Lance agreed, his stomach turning at the prospect of being in the same room as so many X-dorks.

"No." Kitty shook her head sadly. "Just Rogue. The three of us, we have have an agreement. If we hear anything about Jean, we go to Scott, not Mr. Logan or the professor. Like, I don't trust anyone else."

Lance shrugged, thinking, _so much for 'family,' _as he lead Kitty from the cafeteria. Apparently some of Jean's so-called family members were willing to sacrifice her for the greater good, just like Lance was willing to risk bringing Magneto down on Fred, Pietro, Toad, and Wanda. Kitty was wrong about him; he did understand family, and he understood there were things more important. As he caught up to Cyclops in the parking lot, he wondered if he was choosing the right side in the X-Men's split over Jean Grey.


	16. A Choice

This time, no mind-voice wrested Jean from the holocaust of her dreams. Instead, her consciousness emerged of its own volition, restless and wary. Her entire body felt wrong, from her throbbing head to her stiff, aching muscles. Her mouth had gone dry, and her lips felt swollen. Had someone drugged her in order to move her here? For a moment, she pondered which was worse-- this pharmaceutical assault or Mastermind's psychic manipulation. At least today, her hands were free.

As she stood and stretched, she noted that her surroundings had changed entirely. The previous room had at least offered sunlight through its grubby windows. This one had only stark white walls, cold tile floors, and strips of fluorescent lighting across the ceiling. The cot she had slept on and a built-in cabinet along one wall were the only furnishings. The heavy-looking door had only a small window near the top. Wherever she was, she would be staying here a while, at least until she could get the collar off. Assuming she wanted to get it off. Assuming she deserved to be free.

_Free! Free to fly. Free to burn. _The voice in her head sang, and flames roared in her mind's eye.

She clutched her temples and sank to her knees. "Stop it! Just stop it! This isn't what I want! I'm going to make you go away!"

The voice-- the Dark Phoenix, as Emma had called it-- did not reply, instead retreating to the periphery of her awareness where she could hardly feel its smoldering presence. Jean ran her hands down her thighs, wiping sweat onto the satin of her black nightdress. The simple feel of fabric reminded her that she needed to get dressed; it would be something to do in the real world, a small task to distract her from the chaos in her head.

She rose to her feet, stepped over to the cabinet, and opened it. On the back of one of the doors hung a full-length mirror. Several outfits, all black, hung on hangers. Jean wrinkled her nose at a frilly dress with wide tulle skirts and rolled her eyes at a long black cape before selecting a short suede skirt and a silky poet's blouse. For her feet, she had the choice of black stiletto heels or knee-high boots. She chose the boots, reasoning that they would be easier to run in, if she were to be presented with the opportunity to escape. In a drawer, she found a hairbrush, and even a selection of designer cosmetics. The lipstick was a revolting maroon that made her face look sickly-pale in contrast, but at least it soothed her dry lips.

Just as she was finishing the laces on her boots, the door swung open, revealing Emma and Magneto.

The former swept her eyes over Jean and smiled approvingly. "You look absolutely exquisite."

"Uh, thanks," Jean muttered.

Magneto glanced from Jean to Emma and raised an eyebrow. "Is it not premature to be grooming her for the position of Black Queen?"

Emma shrugged. "I simply provided an appropriate wardrobe. As you have made clear numerous times, Eric, the decision is up to her."

"I'm not--" Jean began. The words "joining the Hellfire Club" stuck in her mouth. She couldn't risk alienating Emma Frost, not if there was any chance the woman could help her get rid of the Phoenix. "--sure what I want to do," she finished lamely.

_How diplomatic! _Emma replied silently. _I do appreciate civility, dear, even if I can smell the cesspool it hides. _

_I told you to stay out of my head! _Jean snapped. She pulled futilely at the collar, cursing what it was doing to her mental defenses.

"If you are finished with your conversation..." Magneto gestured toward the door and Emma followed him through, dragging Jean by the arm as if they were a pair of close friends strolling through the shopping mall.

Jean jerked her arm away from Emma, unwilling to let such a small indignity pass. She might not be able to escape her cell, or use her powers, or keep people out of her head, but she could at least make them keep their hands off her.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

Magneto glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her. "If we are to work as allies, you need to see the nature of the program you will be facilitating."

"You mean you're going to explain your master plan to me?" She wanted to laugh, but couldn't. "Isn't that a little--"

"I am not the villain Charles had lead you believe I am, Jean."

"Villain?" Emma repeated the word with a silvery laugh and rolled her eyes at Jean. "He's a wide-eyed bloody idealist, no better than Xavier."

"Just because you and your organization cater to and are controlled by the basest of instincts does not mean other mutants are so painfully _human," _Magneto growled. 

"As a telepath, I don't have the luxury of ignoring anyone's humanity." Silently, Emma added, _Oh, you can try to ignore it, pretend you don't feel the revolting urges of every repressed lecher who walks by _y_ou, tell yourself you aren't even curious how much money the banker embezzled or which angry plebeian is actually insane enough to carry out a shooting spree. We have a choice that even a mutant as powerful as Eric lacks, Jean. We can choose to take advantage of human wretchedness instead of fantasizing about the possibility of rising above it. _

_I told you haven't made up my mind yet, _Jean replied, surprising herself with the fact that she actually meant that. She didn't want to join with Magneto or the Hellfire Club, but then again, a few days ago the X-Mansion hadn't felt like home either. "Just show me what you're going to show me, Magneto."

They were walking down a long, featureless corridor. After reaching an unremarkable door, Magneto stopped, raising a hand in the air. Inside the door, the lock mechanism clicked, and the door sung open. Magneto extended an arm, pointing the way like an usher. Emma placed a hand between Jean's shoulder blades, gently urging her forward.

The door opened onto a steel catwalk surrounding a room perhaps twice the size of the X-jet hangar. The area enclosed by the catwalk had many steel columns stretching from floor to ceiling, along with many pumps and tanks, all linked by a complicated network of pipes and wires. Magneto leaned over the railing of the catwalk and wiped at one of the columns with the tail of his cape. Smiling, he beckoned Jean to join him.

Her first thought was that it was unwise to stand near the edge of an elevated surface in the proximity of a supervillain. She quickly suppressed that thought, both because Emma seemed to find it amusing and because logic dictated that if Magneto had wanted to kill her, he would have done so by now. As she leaned over the railing to examine the column, he gripped her elbow gently, steadying her.

Up close, she could see that the column was only part steel. The rest of it was thick glass, all covered in a thin white fuzz of frost, save where Magneto had wiped it with his cape. Through the clear patch of glass, Jean made out the serene blue features of a woman as well as the straps of a sleeveless white dress.

Jean reeled, shuddering at the thought of someone being imprisoned in one of those things. Magneto tugged hard on her arm, pulling her back away from the railing.

"Mystique!" Jean pointed at the column. "Is she..."

"She is in stasis, along with all the others." Magneto made an expansive gesture. "Each of the columns holds four mutants, along with the apparati necessary to support them."

"You're insane!" Jean took a step back, but found herself against the wall.

"That's not the insane part," Emma said, folding her arms across her chest and leaning on the railing.

Ignoring Emma, Magneto wrapped his hands around Jean's upper arms. "Jean, the Heart of Reality is not merely a weapon. It is also an energy source capable of generating worlds! If you and Emma are able to restore the Phoenix to its previous state, I will be able to create-- literally!-- a Utopia where mutant kind will no longer be oppressed by the multitudes of lesser beings."

"And that, my dear, is the insane part," Emma quipped, smiling.

Jean stepped over to the railing and leaned forward to look at Mystique's face, now blurred by a newly -formed layer of frost. "So you're preparing them for space travel to-- to your own planet?"

"The capabilities of the Phoenix, when confined to the Heart of Reality, are--" Magneto began.

"For what it's worth," Emma interrupted, "I believe him about the powers of the crystal. The mechanics of creating and populating a planet may well be within his grasp, but concocting a functioning political system invulnerable to the effects of greed, fear, and basic incompetence is beyond even the capabilities of the Heart of Reality."

"Then what do _you_ get out of this?" Jean wondered.

"In exchange for my assistance, the Hellfire Club gains control of the Heart of Reality, once Eric has used it to create his doomed Utopia." Emma leaned forward, bringing her face close to Jean's and smiling. "Now, go ahead, dear. Ask what it is you really want to know."

"I--" Jean stumbled, still raddled at having her own thoughts plundered. Her question wasn't the sort of thing an X-Man was supposed to ask, but maybe Emma was right, and the X-Men were only pretending it was possible to be something more than a greedy bastard. She sighed and shrugged. "Alright, I'll ask-- what do I get out of helping you?"

"A choice," Magneto and Emma answered in unison. They glanced at each other, both looking irritated, before Magneto continued, "As an omega-level psychic, you are offered the position of Senior Intelligence Officer in the governing cabinet of Planet M."

"Or the far more sensible alternative of remaining here, as Black Queen of the Hellfire Club," Emma finished.

"Your pet or his," Jean mused out loud, shaking her head.

"Or Charles Xavier's." Emma shrugged. "We all play someone's game, Jean. The difference is that as Black Queen, you'll be making the rules instead of enforcing them as Magneto's lackey or Xavier's good little soldier."

She felt trapped by Emma's reasoning, by the idea of being inside one of those steel tubes, by the collar around her neck. She wanted to tell them both to go to hell, wanted to tell them she didn't have to play by any rules, not when she still had the Phoenix inside her. Her mind blazed, igniting every nerve in her body with the searing thrill of power. The collar burned as well, wracking her with shuddering jolts of pain, bringing her to her knees. When she raised her hands toward her neck, she saw that they were gloved in flame.

_Damn it Jean, fight it! Whatever it is you want, it isn't this. Power without control is useless, bloody useless! You want more than what this thing can offer you. _

Jean threw back her head and howled in pain and rage, her own voice mingled with the cry of the Phoenix.

"What's happening to her?" Magneto demanded, glaring at Emma.

"We're losing her! The collar, it's-- We need Wyngarde, now!"

"No time for that!" Magneto snapped.

The smell of burning flesh choked Jean's nostrils, making her gag, but it was nothing compared to the molten agony around her neck as the collar melted in the flames. Magneto raised a hand, and the molten metal dispersed, leaving only the pain and the audible sizzle of flesh behind.

Magneto turned to Emma and barked, "You must disable her!"

"Yes, fine." Emma said the word through sparkling crystalline lips. The pale woman was gone, replaced by a faceted, talking sculpture that reminded Jean of Bobby in his ice form. "Sorry about this, really." Emma raised a shimmering fist.

The last sensation Jean felt was a sharp blow to the side of her head.


	17. What It Takes

Lance Alvers slouched in the corner of one of the closet-like group study rooms at Bayville High, his fists clenched at his sides. Instead of leering at Kitty or giving Scott his usual, pathetic I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass look, he stared at a spot on the wall, perhaps seeing something else in his mind's eye. Even from the opposite corner of the tiny room, Scott could smell Lance's greasy hair and body odor. The threadbare jeans Alvers always wore had dark, yellow-brown stains on the thighs, and parts of his black tee shirt looked stiff, as if caked with something. Even by Brotherhood standards, Lance looked like he was losing it.

The door swung open, passing through Kitty, who stood beside Lance. Rogue entered, shut the door behind her, and sat in one of the plastic chairs, next to Kurt. She ran her eyes over Lance, shook her head, and sighed in disgust before putting on her usual bored expression. Despite her affected apathy, the fingers of her right hand closed around those of her left in what would have been an innocuous gesture for anyone else. Scott knew it was the equivalent of him touching the rim of his glasses; she could have her glove off in seconds and her left hand on Lance's wrist or cheek before he could bring down the walls.

Scott leaned forward, resting his palms on the small, graffiti-riddled table and said, "Alright, Alvers. We're all here. If you've got something to tell us about Jean..."

"It wasn't my fault--" Lance shuffled his feet and shrugged, opening his mouth and then closing it, as if unable to decide how to spin the story.

For a moment, Scot considered pulling off his glasses and blasting that Brotherhood loser through the wall; if Lance had to think that hard about why Jean's disappearance wasn't his fault, that meant he was directly responsible. Scott's hand drifted to his temple before he forced it back down to the table.

"I don't care whose fault it was," Scott said through clenched teeth. "I just want Jean back safely."

Lance raised his hands, palms outward. "Look, I don't know where she is--"

"Then why bring us here? If this is some kind of joke--" Scott began, the right lens of his glasses pinched firmly between his thumb and forefinger.

"Whoa! Like, let him talk!" Kitty phased through the table and stood in the center of it, arms extended so that one hand rested on Scott's shoulder and the other disappeared into Lance's chest.

The implication was clear; Kitty was restraining Scott, but actively threatening Lance by positioning herself one thought away from literally holding his heart in her hand.

"Scott's right," Rogue muttered, pinching the finger of her glove. "Start talkin'."

Looking nervous, Kurt sidled closer to Lance, probably planning to bamf them both out of the room if Scott, Kitty, or Rogue made any sudden moves. Kurt took the whole "love thy neighbor" thing to its ultimate extreme, even if said neighbor knew something about Jean and was playing coy. At the moment, Scott couldn't share Kurt's convictions, but he was able to lower his hand, slowly.

Fixing his eyes on Kitty and ignoring everyone else, Lance repeated, "It wasn't my fault. At least, not this part of it, not her getting kidnapped. I was--" He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Pietro brought her back to the boarding house and she'd been-- it looked like she'd been in an accident. I wanted to drop her off at Xavier's, but Pietro had already called his dad."

"Is she alright?" Kitty sniffled, lowering her hands and turning to face Lance. "I mean before Magneto took her, was she..."

Lance shrugged. "She was pretty banged up, but yeah, I think she's fine. Physically, at least."

"Jean hasn't been herself," Scott snapped, feeling the need to defend her.

"Kitty explained about the Phoenix, but that's not what I mean. It wasn't Magneto that took her. It was this guy Jason Wyngarde, calls himself 'Mastermind'."

The four X-Men exchanged an alarmed look.

"If Magneto is working with the Hellfire Club, maybe we need to tell the professor," Kurt offered.

Scott folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. "Lance, is there anything else you can tell us?"

"Nope, that's it. And I'm done." Lance took a step toward the door, pushing past Kitty when she tried to grab his arm.

As Lance exited, Rogue jumped to her feet, her bare left hand extended. Scott took her by the shoulders, holding firmly until the sound of Lance's footsteps faded.

"What'd ya do that for?" Rogue demanded. "He might be in on it! Ah coulda found out what he knows."

Scott shook his head. "I'd rather see where he goes. Kurt, tail him. Don't let him see you. We need to know if he's reporting to Magneto or the Hellfire Club."

"Yes, sir!" After a brief, mocking salute, Kurt bamfed away, leaving Scott alone with the girls.

Scott slumped into one of the chairs, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Kurt's right. We have to tell Professor Xavier that Magneto is working with Mastermind."

"But Jean--" Rogue began, frowning.

"We don't mention Jean!" Scott barked. "All the professor needs to know is that Magneto and the Hellfire Club are up to something together. Kitty can say Lance told her in the back of his jeep."

"Ewww! As if!" Kitty protested.

"Fine. Then say you overheard him talking to Pietro, I don't care." Scott ran a hand through his hair and put his elbow on the table so he could rest his forehead on his palm. "We just need the professor to locate Mastermind using Cerebro. Once we know that, we have an idea where Jean might be."

"Yeah, and like, so does the Professor and Storm and Mr. Logan. Don't you think they'll take the X-jet and go looking?" Kitty shook her head and opened her mouth to continue her protest.

Scott pounded the table with a fist. "No! We can't let that happen. That's why we're going to disable the X-jet. We won't do anything permanent, just unplug a few connections. After the professor briefs everyone, he'll put together a team. When they find out the jet is grounded, Kitty, you'll offer to phase through and look for problems. That's when you make your repairs, and then the four of us take off."

Rogue raised her eyebrows, tilted her head, and regarded Scott with a look of admiration that made him feel guilty for enjoying it so much. "That's a good plan. Kurt isn't gonna like it though. Lyin' to the Professor, trickin' the whole team..."

"That's why he won't know the details. Once we have the X-jet ready to go, we ask him to come with us, but until then, we keep quiet."

"And then, like, what? We go in and storm Magneto's headquarters?" Kitty wondered.

"If that's what it takes."

"I-- I don't know, Scott..." Kitty spread her fingers and looked down at the back of her hands.

"Well, _Ah_, do." Rogue reached across the table and took Scott's fist in both of her satin-gloved hands. "Ah know what Jean means to you, and if-- if there could be someone Ah could feel that way about, Ah – Ah'd do anythin' for 'em."

"Yeah, but Rogue, what are we actually going to _do_ once we find Jean?" Kitty asked.

Rogue took a deep breath, sending a tremor through her body that Scott could feel in her hands. She released his fist and cradled her left hand in her right, fingering one glove with the other. "We do what we hafta t' save Jean."


End file.
